


Dead Blood

by Haecceity



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Banelings, Creator and Keeper as only two examples of their kind, DA II finale, Demons, F/M, M/M, Mord'Sith being Mord'Sith, The Fade, canon infanticide, canon torture, dead people still talking, spoilers everywhere, violence toward children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haecceity/pseuds/Haecceity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover between Dragon Age and Legend of the Seeker after the events of Dragon Age II and episode 2x11</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fenris’s big eyes scanned the trees as he sniffed the air. It didn’t smell like Kirkwall. It didn’t smell like that Orlesian nobleman’s estate. It didn’t smell like the Deep Roads, not quite. The scent of decay lay thick on the air but the acrid pong of the taint was absent. It was less humid than Seheron. The overall impression was familiar and alien. He looked over his shoulder to see Hawke stepping out of the cave Fenris had just exited, Ulf sprinting between the human and whatever scent caught his attention at that moment.

“I was expecting something stranger. More tentacles perhaps, dripping acid and speaking ancient untranslatable words.” Hawke dropped a hand to scratch behind his Mabari’s ears. The mastiff gazed lovingly at his chosen master, slobbering all over Hawke’s leg. “I don’t know, maybe a blood red sky. Definitely expected more demons.” His free hand brushed the hilt of his off hand knife.

Sketch looked around the forest warily and seemed to scuttle into Hawke’s shadow. “I’m just as happy not to have to face demons.” He gripped his staff with white knuckled hands. “Maker. What’s that smell?”

Tallis made her entrance with her usual flair, flipping a kick over their heads to mount a slight slope. “Something died. An awful lot of somethings, smells like.” The red haired elf surveyed the land.

Fenris wrinkled his nose in distaste, glaring at the mage. “Your magic brought us here, mage.”

“Because your friend asked me to and by asked I mean he held a knife to my throat and threatened to leave me to the Antivans if I didn’t.” Sketch glared back.

“I said please.” Hawke shaded his eyes and looked around. “Did you want to be left behind?”

“No, no,” Sketch said quickly. “Just making my position clear. I am not responsible for any monsters conjured by your artifact.” He switched his makeshift staff from one hand to the other.

“We’ll see,” Fenris grated.

Tallis dropped to the forest floor, knees bent. “There’s smoke that way. I think there’s some sort of village. Maybe just a large farmstead. Anyway, it gives us a direction to start towards.”

***

“Those don’t look like any darkspawn I’ve seen,” Sigrun wrinkled her nose as she watched a woman, her face showing signs of decay, join a line of similar creatures. They’d been watching for twenty minutes. Long enough to have seen the people emerge from the other end of the building looking completely normal. She fell silent as the doors opened and one of the creatures was ejected. The man had a look of agony on his face as his body disintegrated into dust. “Ok, not darkspawn.”

Darrian grunted, eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t get us any closer to Morrigan.” They all knew his protest was meaningless. Growing up in the Denerim Alienage had given the Warden a tendency to stab, then set fire to, then club anything that moved before getting around to whatever questions he might have. The heightened suspicion was something he had in common with Sigrun.

“Do you think you could fireball that building?” Sigrun asked Finn eagerly.

“There might be innocent people inside,” Finn protested.

“If I might,” Zevran interrupted. “We may want to observe what they’re doing in there.” He took on the tone Darrian recognized as the one he used when he felt he was being the reasonable one. With the exception of a couple memorable occasions, he was usually right. “These creatures speak and reason. They are not mindless slaves. I doubt they are simply gathering for the company.”

“An excellent point,” Darrian admitted. “You can go with Sigrun to investigate.”

“I’ll be thinking of you the whole time,” Zevran bowed and vanished into the underbrush, Sigrun grumbling cheerfully in his wake. 

Darrian turned back to look at his remaining companions. Finn was as apprehensive and well starched as ever. Darrian wasn’t sure why he put so much effort into staying clean in the middle of the forest. Truly, he put more effort into keeping his robes well pressed than Zevran did into flirting. Next to him stood Ariane, the faint lines of her facial tattoos blended with the shadows cast by the tree leaves. Rabbit, Darrian’s Mabari, seemed to be lecturing her again as she muttered to him about humans, his war paint adding to the impression that they were part of the shadows.

It didn’t take as long as he would have thought for Zevran and Sigrun to come rushing back. 

“There are children in there,” Sigrun said, outraged. “They’re killing children.” The dwarven Grey Warden scowled fiercely, her purple casteless tattoos only a few shades darker than her angry flush.

“They’re all human or used to be,” Zevran’s melodic accent broke through Sigrun’s report. “the rotting ones go in, kill a person, and are restored to health. Some of those killed rise and are apparently trapped in the same cycle. Judging by the conversations we overheard, they must kill every day and in this... charnel house they pay gold for easy prey.”

“They’re not darkspawn but they’re definitely tainted.” Sigrun said with certainty. “I don’t know if they can sense us. Their intelligence seemed to drown me out. Too much rationalizing and not enough instinct.”

“When we stopped by Weisshaupt, I picked up the report on Utha’s last mission.” Darrian hated thinking about what the taint was doing to his own body, turning him into one of the monsters he hunted. Utha’s corruption had been knowingly sped up and the report implied that she had agreed to the process. When he had met her she had been willing enough in helping a sapient darkspawn conduct experiments with warden blood. “From our previous encounters they felt more like her than the intelligent darkspawn we met. Maybe they were never trained. If they rise from the dead-” He broke off as a horrifying thought came to him. “What if this world has no Wardens?”

“We haven’t encountered any and we’ve been here for months,” Sigrun said. 

She and Darrian would have recognized a Warden with or without uniforms. It came with the taint. Darrian felt a pang of regret that Alistair wasn’t there. “Plan is we do our best to evacuate the building and then burn it to ash. These things have to kill every day. Getting rid of them will save countless lives.” He considered leaving the building intact and killing the dead as they came for their daily death but the area wasn’t that well populated and the things didn’t move any faster than ordinary humans. Slashing, burning, and moving on would be a more effective use of their time. Maker forgive him for the ones he was letting go.

***

Normally Fenris would be unperturbed by the silence. It wasn’t a real silence. Birds were chirping and small animals were rustling in the brush. The mage walked with the stealth that came of living in cities all his life. He wore shoes. 

Fenris still insisted on going barefoot. When Varric had asked, Fenris had said something about not being able to find boots to match his armor. That was at least partly true but it had more to do with feeling cut off and off balance without his feet touching the ground. He couldn’t remember wearing shoes. He couldn’t remember wearing any other armor. He must have at some point but as he tried yet again to remember his mind only found searing pain that blocked out anything else. Everything else. He still wore the name Danarius had given him. He still wore the armor Danarius had designed to his own theatrical tastes. As Hawke had told him, he still held his slavery close. He remembered the corpses of those who had helped him, whom he had admired, slain by his hand.

Hawke and Tallis were talking about the best way to try searching for the Hero of Ferelden. Fenris found himself listening to Hawke’s voice more than his words. He’d been the subject of a manhunt but never had to lead one. Hawke had done several by now. Someday Hawke would run into a task he couldn’t accomplish or an enemy he wouldn’t defeat and on that day Hawke would be taken from Fenris. Fenris hoped to be there. The alternative was unthinkable. He could see the day drawing nearer behind Hawke’s eyes. Hawke could never really understand what Fenris had lost even if he understood Fenris’s initial rejection. Fenris could never understand what Hawke had lost even if he understood Hawke’s drive.

That was the silence that bothered Fenris. Hawke talked like normal but he had stopped saying anything. He had never met Malcolm or Carver but Hawke’s rage at Leandra’s death had been terrible. Fenris had borne it because he understood the helplessness. He had raged himself because it was unfair. He remembered Leandra fondly. She might have spent years in hiding in Ferelden but at heart she was still a citizen of Kirkwall and a noblewoman. Her acceptance of him as an elf, as a man, as someone worthy of Hawke had been a gift he would never have expected and could never equal. 

Hawke’s response to being run out of his second home was despair. Bethany was still out there somewhere, likely fighting for mage freedom. Not that she’d been left with much choice. The abomination had made certain of that. If anyone had asked him, he would have told them that letting an abomination run free would only end badly. Actually, he had told people when they didn’t ask. By end badly he’d thought someday Anders would end up doing a blood ritual and taking down a garrison of templars or maybe starting a revolt or trying to assassinate Knight-Commander Meredith. He hadn’t done anything because Hawke had been so sure.

In the wake of... everything. Fenris knew that was the name of the silence between them. Anders. He remembered the look of peace on the mage’s face when Hawke slid the knife in and he remembered the Fog Warriors defying Danarius for his sake and then lying dead on the ground by his sword at Danarius’s command. Fenris had been right and the Abomination had hurt people and Orsino had betrayed them all and Anders had been right and Meredith was mad and Elthina was weak and too many people had died and he missed winning money off the mage and Hawke wouldn’t start the conversation with him because he couldn’t be sorry that a mage had died.

Sketch touched Fenris’s elbow and he turned and snarled. Sketch put a finger to his lips and nodded forward. The burned out remains of a building stood smoking in the center of a cleared space. There was no sign of anything stirring.

Hawke poked at a dark support strut, stepping back when it collapsed into powdery ash.

***

Richard drew his sword and stalked into the clearing. Behind him, Kahlan drew her knives and Cara her Agiels. It took him a moment to realize there was something wrong with their faces. Their noses met their foreheads in a straight line without any dips. Their ears stuck out in sharp points like the edges of a fern leaf. Except the one with skin the color of mahogany. He looked like an ordinary man as he drew two blades in much the same way Kahlan did. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m Hawke. Who’re you?” The man shot back. Over his left shoulder a man with choppy silver hair and strange tattoos drew a sword nearly as tall as he was and the hound with them growled deep in his heavily muscled chest.

“I’m the Mother Confessor.” Kahlan said firmly.

“You don’t look like a priest,” a short man with a staff said suspiciously.

Zedd twitched his fingers in a gesture and the man’s large eyes burned into him. “Don’t do anything foolish, boy.”

The silver haired man’s tattoos began to glow, glaring at Zedd like he was a battalion of Banelings.

“What is he?” Cara asked, gripping her Agiels firmly.

Hawke stepped forward, shoulders back and menace rolling off him. “The love of my life.”

“Let’s all calm down a bit,” the red haired woman in back stepped forward, holding her knives ready. She walked on the balls of her feet with a grace that said she was a match for any of them. “I’m Tallis. The snarky one is Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. The grim glowing one is Fenris. And the twitchy one is Sketch.” The dog barked commandingly. “And that’s Ulf.”

“Kirkwall?” Richard asked. “Where’s that?”

Zedd cleared his throat. “I’m Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander, Wizard of the First Order. These are Richard Cypher, Seeker of Truth. Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor. And Cara.” He gestured to each of his teammates in turn. “Did you have anything to do with this?” He switched his attention to the smoking ruin.

“No,” Hawke said firmly. “We just got here.” He stood down slightly, putting his knives back in their sheaths even if he didn’t quite let go of them.

Richard put the Sword of Truth away as a show of good intention. Zedd could burn anyone who got too close. “We were tracking a group of Banelings. The trail ends here.” 

“Banelings?” Sketch frowned.

Richard guessed that they could have been isolated enough to have missed the hordes of marauding undead but they were dressed in gear that was worn with fighting. He saw no sign of D’Haran insignia. “Were you with the rebellion?”

“You’ve heard of the rebellion but not Kirkwall.” Tallis tilted her head, eyes sliding to Cara. “We’re from around the Waking Sea. We’re searching for one of our countrymen. He travels with a dog like this one.”

“He said banelings. Banelings do not sound like a good thing.” Sketch said urgently.

“I’ve never heard of the Waking Sea,” Kahlan said, casting a narrow glance toward Zedd.

*

Kahlan scanned the faces of the newcomers. As strange as most of them appeared to be, their body language was similar enough to humans for her to be able to tell truth from lies. There was something they weren’t saying but their statement of their mission was true.

“Probably not,” Hawke said, shrugging. “It is a very long way from here.”

His sea green eyes were steady and he showed no anxiety over the fact. Fenris appeared to want to say something but bit down on whatever it was. “Are you headed somewhere in particular or do you plan to wander around asking everyone you meet if they’ve seen a dog like yours?” Kahlan asked, guessing at the tension in Tallis’s neck.

“We were in something of a rush,” Hawke said smoothly. “There were assassins and angry nobles and angry nobles who were assassins. Or maybe it was the other way around.”

“And mages,” Fenris said sourly.

“And mages who were assassins and nobles,” Hawke continued. 

“What did you do?” Cara asked, unimpressed. 

“You know how nobility is,” Hawke waved his hand vaguely. “So willing to take offense to any little thing.”

“Where does your countryman fit into that?” Zedd asked in a tone that Kahlan recognized as dangerous though strangers usually took it for grandfatherly. 

“He’s well respected. Defeated a monster trying to kill life as we know it. We’re hoping people will listen to him.” Hawke said, smile not flickering a twitch.

“We’re trying to prevent a lot of bloodshed,” Tallis said urgently. “What Hawke isn’t saying is that our home is poised for a war on three different fronts. I know it sounds farfetched but The Hero of Ferelden might be able to unify at least some of the leaders. All we know is that he came here. There are thousands of innocent lives at stake.” Tallis took a deep breath. “If there’s any way you can help. Please”

Kahlan looked at Richard. “She’s telling the truth.”

“You believed that? I… wasn’t expecting that,” Tallis blinked her large grey eyes.

“We can’t take time to go hunt down this Hero person,” Cara reminded them. “We need to find the Stone of Tears to save our own home.”

“If they have no direction…” Zedd suggested.

“You could travel with us,” Richard said. “You might find a clue and it has to be better than wandering Baneling infested roads blind.”

“They said Baneling again,” Sketch muttered.

“An explanation would be nice,” Hawke suggested. 

“As we go,” Zedd said. “There’s a lot strangers should know.”

*

The enlarged group cut through the Banelings at the crossroads with ease. Zedd watched the small mage send bolts of fire from his staff into the undead flesh of the Banelings with no sign of anything but stern concentration. Sketch remained nearly silent, drinking in the conversation that flowed around him as Richard and Kahlan tried to explain Banelings with occasional hindrance from Cara.

“So why don’t you kill this Keeper?” Hawke asked finally.

“He’s a god,” Kahlan said, too shocked to be horrified.

“Who’s trying to kill you,” Hawke said, eyebrows hinting that she was being slow.

“You can’t kill gods,” Kahlan shot back.

“Have you tried?” Hawke asked curiously. “How do you know he’s a god and not just a demon claiming to be a god? Some demons have remarkably large opinions of themselves. Give them a few worshippers and suddenly it’s all about taking over the world.”

“In the beginning there was the Creator and the Keeper, “Kahlan began.

Zedd watched Sketch hunch down as Kahlan went through the creation story and Hawke argued with her. The thought crossed his mind that this was likely how Hawke had ended up with assassins on his trail. Sketch reacted thoughtfully and occasionally rolled his eyes at Hawke and winced at Fenris’s contributions.

After they had eaten dinner and were settling around the campfire, Zedd finally cornered Sketch alone. “Your companions are an odd bunch.”

“That they are,” Sketch agreed feelingly. “If you want me to tell you their weaknesses, you’re talking to the wrong person.”

“Did you make that yourself?” Zedd asked, pointing at the staff.

“I joined the two together. It gives it a stronger focus,” Sketch said, rubbing his thumb over the joint.

“How did you meet Hawke?” It wasn’t hard to notice that Hawke was the one everyone looked to for cues. In spite of his caution, Sketch was the one who seemed least attached to Hawke.

“He took a contract of mine,” Sketch said, pulling out a square of cloth and starting on cleaning his staff.

“I’d like to know more about the traveling companions my grandson has allowed to join us,” Zedd said, projecting an air of unthreatening curiosity.

“What sort of things were you thinking? We don’t know much about you either.” Sketch had relaxed just a little at Zedd naming his relationship to Richard. Not much but enough that Zedd noticed.

Zedd smiled and gestured to encompass the group. “You share and I’ll share.” He cleared his throat. “What sort of things would you want to know about us?”

Sketch rolled his eyes. “I’ve had enough of spies and intrigue. I just want this over with. I’m not about to take over the world and I doubt my companions are either. I don’t care who you are or what you’re doing so long as you’re not about to cut off my hands or make me Tranquil.”

“So if we were-”

“Or sell us into slavery or roast babies on spits. If you’re going to be grotesque, don’t bother.” Sketch frowned truculently.

“Fair enough,” Zedd said, rethinking his strategy. “Can you tell me about why Fenris keeps glaring at me like that?”

“He hates magic. Get him talking about slavery and if you can get him to shut up, you should have all the information you need,” Sketch said.

***

Darrian jolted awake and looked into the fire. It took him a moment to focus and understand what he was seeing. Rabbit was on his belly, licking his nose and looking toward the fire as his tail wagged. Crouched in the fire itself was a boy. He was about twelve years old with messy blond hair and laughing brown eyes. 

It took Darrian a few more blinks to realize why the child looked familiar. “Anders?”

The boy smiled and stood. “Oh good, you can see me. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to.”

“Why are you so-”

“Transparent? I’m dead. Long, long story. I’m not sure how long I can keep this up.” Anders tugged at his dingy tunic. Darrian couldn’t remember ever seeing him in anything but mage robes. Those tended from silly looking to very shiny to heavily embroidered. Something as drab as the peasant garb the child wore added to the dissonance.

“I was going to say young. You look very... young,” Darrian said.

“What?” Anders looked down at himself and rubbed a hand across his chin. “Damn. I have no idea. Probably to do with being dead. A friend of mine is looking for you.” He hesitated over the word ‘friend.’ “He needs to find you.”

“How do I know it’s really you,” Darrian whispered cautiously.

“You don’t,” Anders said tiredly. “You know enough about blood magic to suspect that I might be a demon prompted by a blood mage who’s been rooting through your mind. There’s nothing I can say to disprove that.”

“True. Where’s this friend of yours?” Darrian asked. He was a firm believer in the idea that sometimes walking into a trap was the best way to deal with it. It had worked with Gaxkang The Unbound. Not so well in the Arl’s estate though.

“I’m not quite sure yet. Everything in this world is the same distance from me.” Anders snorted. “Andraste’s arse, I made a mess.”

Darrian was about to ask another question when Anders abruptly wasn’t there anymore.

***

Fenris sat heavily next to Hawke. He stripped off his spiked gauntlets as he tried to find what he wanted to say through the fluttering in his nerves. “Hawke, I-” Fenris started. His throat closed around the words as Hawke looked at him.

“What?” Weariness and concern warred in Hawke’s voice.

“I didn’t see it coming. You couldn’t have been expected to either,” Fenris managed to choke out past the lump in his throat.

“Your absolution warms my heart,” Hawke said dryly.

“That’s not what I- Never mind.” Fenris turned away. It had been a mistake to say anything. He was terrible with words. He shouldn’t have tried.

It wasn’t until Fenris had settled his head onto his pack and rolled to face away from the fire, from Hawke, that Hawke whispered, “I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“No. You shouldn’t,” Fenris said, rolling over again.

“The Wardens made my father use blood magic. He never- He was a good man.” Hawke looked so lost and hurt right then. It made Fenris’s chest ache. “I thought Anders could-” Hawke pressed his lips firmly together.

Fenris remembered the sensation of their first night. That feeling that he knew himself, that his past and present were bound together by a chain of experiences and memories. The feeling that he was finally home followed by it all slipping straight through his fingers as the memories faded back into the burning knot of remembered pain he carried everywhere. The feeling that he should have known better than to expect something as wonderful as Hawke. He placed his hand under Hawke’s jaw, the touch and emotions waking the glow of his tattoos, and felt the ache in his chest join forces with the burning knot in his gut.

He wasn’t sorry the abomination was dead. He couldn’t be sorry. If he were sorry then- But he could be sorry Hawke was hurting. Hawke had made a poor choice in friends and even if Fenris had warned him over and over, Hawke wasn’t the one who had killed those people. Hawke had lost a piece of that chain, that assurance and restraint that tied his past and his present together. Hawke had deserved a wake up call, not- “He deserved to die. You couldn’t have known. Anders wasn’t Bethany. He never was. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to do that.” he touched his forehead to Hawke’s. “I’m sorry.”

Hawke wrapped an arm around Fenris and the elf allowed himself to be snuggled. Without words to trip him up.

***

Kahlan grasped the Sister of the Dark by the throat and allowed her power to through the contact and into the other woman. 

“Command me, mistress,” the sorceress said dreamily.

“How many of you are waiting to ambush us,” Kahlan asked coldly.

Fenris spoke over the woman’s response. “Mistress? What does she mean?”

Tearing her eyes away from the Confessed, Kahlan met Fenris’s glare. During the last couple of weeks she had heard his rants about demons and seen the disgusted looks he gave Zedd and Sketch. She’d also seen him glow blue and rip a man’s heart right out of his chest. A thrill of fear made her fingers tingle as she recognized the hatred and loathing in his eyes. She looked at Hawke who usually made some sort of move to get between Fenris and the subject of his anger if it looked like there was going to be violence. Instead, both Hawke and Tallis looked like they were getting ready for a fight. Even Sketch, who Kahlan thought of as the reasonable one, was looking at her like something he’d found under a rock.

Zedd made a placating gesture but Fenris drew his sword. “What is the witch talking about?”

“We need information from the sorceress,” Richard said in what he fancied was his reasonable voice. “Kahlan is a Confessor. I didn’t know what they were at first either. We didn’t have any in Westland.” He interposed himself between Kahlan and Fenris, hand on his pommel. “She can use her magic to get answers-”

“How?” Hawke demanded angrily. “Blood magic?”

“She looks mind controlled to me,” Tallis said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Kahlan drew herself up tall and wiped all emotion from her face. She locked the old fear and anger deep inside, pushing memories of her father to the back and bringing memories of Serena to the fore. With as much dignity as she could manage Kahlan announced, “I am the Mother Confessor. It falls to me to judge those who commit crimes in the Midlands. It’s my duty. My purpose.”

Tallis spat something in a language Kahlan didn’t recognize. “You know nothing of purpose.”

Cara edged forward to make a line with Richard. Kahlan took strength from their support. “We need to get this done.” Again, she called on her lessons and spoke with authority, projecting the way Serena had taught her to.

“And then you’ll let her go?” Hawke asked grimly.

“She’s a servant of the Keeper. In exchange for power she’s betrayed all life,” Kahlan said indignantly.

“So, you’ll execute her?” Hawke pressed.

“I’ll tell her to go live her life in service to others,” Kahlan said, chin up.

“While still under your control,” Fenris made one of his collection of disgusted noises. “And then what? She goes through the rest of her life knowing she’s thinking your thoughts?” Fenris’s tattoos began to glow. 

“Why not execute her?” Hawke’s voice had lost all its humor. His eyes were hard and the mix of anger, guilt, and disgust displayed in his stance rang warning bells in Kahlan’s head. There was previous pain there that he was quickly becoming willing to use as fuel.

“She’s a different person now. She shouldn’t be punished for mistakes that aren’t her fault. She deserves the opportunity to lead a full life.” Kahlan answered firmly.

“That’s sick,” Hawke said. “Maker’s breath! How many other people have you fixed and sent into the world where you don’t have to think about them?”

“Magic,” Fenris muttered. “It always comes back to magic.”

“Am I displeasing you, mistress?”

Fenris visibly shuddered. “This is evil. She’s not just controlled. She’s Tranquil.”

Hawke’s attention swung to Richard and Kahlan felt her first stirring of real dread. “You know she does this? And you do nothing to help her?”

“Kahlan can handle her own problems,” Richard frowned.

“Clearly,” Fenris said disdainfully.

“I see evidence that says otherwise,” Hawke said through gritted teeth. 

“She was a Sister of the Dark,” Richard repeated. 

“No one deserves what your precious witch has done to her,” Hawke said angrily. “No one.”

Fenris looked like he disagreed but Hawke was being so sincere it hurt Kahlan to look at him. Fenris’s look in her direction said that he felt she deserved Confession. She was used to fear and anger at her abilities. It drew up unpleasant ghosts but the disgust wasn’t part of the normal range of reaction. “As the Mother Confessor it is my duty to administer justice.”

“She’s a magister,” Fenris said. Kahlan could almost taste his fear. Instead of being cowed by it, he looked even more dangerous. A frightened animal ready to lash out at her and anyone who stood with her. “And a slaver. Why do you defend her?”

“How do we know she hasn’t interfered with all their minds?” Tallis chimed in.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Kahlan protested. “Cara would die if I Confessed her and Richard and Zedd are too important.” As soon as the words had left her mouth, Kahlan knew they were a mistake.

“You only enslave unimportant people then,” Fenris snarled. “That makes it all better.”

“I punish criminals and people like her who try to destroy us all,” Kahlan said angrily.

***

Cara opened her eyes to realize she had never shut them. The sickly green lighting was sourceless in a way that left too many shadows and the rock beneath her feet was too cold. It took her mind only a split second to remember running through the woods, chasing after Tallis. “Rahl!” she shouted, making an effort not touch the spot on her throat where Tallis’s thrown dagger had hit her.

“He’s being kept busy. I need to talk to you,” a shadowed figure said.

“I want to take the deal!” Cara said, defying the shadows and eerie silence. It struck her then that the air had been filled with despairing moans only a moment before.

“I’m not stopping you,” the man stepped forward into slightly better lighting. The light made him look sickly but his shoulders were set in a determined way. Unlike most of the Underworld, he was clothed; a black coat falling to his knees, black boots and gloves, and his hair pulled back. “I just need a few moments. Practically no time will pass here. I swear it.”

Cara glared at him and nodded regally. “Where are we going?”

“Another part of the Fade,” the man said, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m Anders. This way.”

One moment she was in a dark cave and after three steps she was under a green sky dotted with floating islands. She was still wearing nothing but her skin yet the sensations of the air and dirt were muted. They walked past a statue with bat wings next to a ship on its side and an end table that didn’t quite touch the ground before she finally broke down and admitted more curiosity. “What?”

“Emotion has more substance than matter here.” Anders seemed slightly more comfortable. “They pick things up from dreamers and try to recreate them without understanding how they work. I’ve come to suspect we do the same with magic.” He paused in evident sorrow.

“Why are we here?” Cara asked. Even if he was a wizard, she could either grapple him before he hurt her or she couldn’t.

“We’re human, or you are and I was but I still think like one, and- Maker’s breath, where to begin? What do you know of the place we just came from?” Anders stopped in front of a painting hanging in midair without support.

“It’s the Underworld,” Cara said like the obvious fact it was.

“Right, yes. Where the dead spirits go and sometimes dreamers.”

“Only the bad ones-”

“The good ones go the Maker’s side?”

“Bask in the Creator’s Light,” Cara corrected.

“Close enough.”

“-And that’s how it works normally. Right now the Keeper is trying to escape the Underworld and so all the spirits are in his domain.” Cara said. Zedd had gotten very technical when he tried to explain it to them but that was the gist as she understood it. In the usual course of events it wouldn’t matter. Her job was to stand between her Lord Rahl and threats to him whether physical or magical. Understanding what they were helped and so she made an effort but she was no sorceress.

“There are no good spirits,” Anders said. Every interrogatory instinct in Cara was screaming that this was sincere and his sorrow was genuine. “There never were.”

Cara had never had much faith, not since the day she had killed her father. Some things lined up too well to simply be dismissed as religion. Kahlan’s faith in the Creator and the Good Spirits was devout enough to be very convincing on its own. “But-”

“Your Creator and your Keeper have a longstanding pact. So old that even the owner of this island can’t give me much of a guess. The conflict between them brings opportunity to others of their kind.” Anders said gently. “Someone in your waking world should be aware of this. There are entities seeking entrance. Your gods have kept them away for a long time.” He tilted his head in concentration. “I can feel some of the seals weakening as they fight each other.”

Cara froze, refusing to retreat. “Why tell me?”

“I made some very ill informed decisions that worked out very, very badly.” Anders said softly. 

“Yes, but why me?” Cara pressed impatiently.

“I was told you’d been near servants of both of your gods. Oh, and one who serves both.” Anders tilted his head again with that look of intense concentration. “You travel with two of them who serve both.”

Cara tightened her lips. Maybe there had been something to that Mark of the Keeper. Darken was always at his best when he was saying things that had some element of truth to them. Mistress Nathair had warned her students that the best way to ease someone open without shattering them was to play off their hopes and fears. The things that were more true than not were the best tools because they were the most difficult to ignore, penetrating through armor. The truth hurt more than a lie ever could. She was used to dealing in pain and disciplined enough not to fall back into the memory of the last time she had seen Mistress Nathair. 

Anders’s eyes focused on her face again. “I’ll take you back now.”

“Who are you?” Cara demanded. The key to training a man was to find who he was and replace it with loyalty to his mistress.

“A dead man trying to clean up my mess,” Anders said easily, the ground shifting under their feet. “Just remember, about this bargain, the things that you take into yourself can become you.”

***

Cara gingerly felt her throat, noting the dried blood. With the message she had, she wasn’t sure if she should tell Richard. Telling Richard would mean admitting she was a Baneling and then they would look at her-

They shouldn’t have to bear the burden of her bargain. It was her duty to protect her Lord Rahl. With Darken, that would mean telling him everything as soon as she knew. He always had his spy network with its ear to the ground and nose to the wind. He had a talent for paranoia that kept him from accepting inadequate reports and allowed him to sort through the likely facts while keeping in mind the unlikely ones that rivaled a Mord’Sith. With Richard, their information was so limited and largely relied on Richard’s Seeker instincts. His instincts hadn’t stopped him from going with the Sisters or allowing himself to be body-swapped by Denna or any number of things Cara could think of. She would tell him about the possibility of other gods encroaching on their own. She would. But she needed to think through how best to do that first.

***

Time had no meaning anymore. Seconds were eons and days were heartbeats. Anders wasn’t even sure time was passing anymore. He remembered things with an odd clarity. He remembered the red light and the howl as the Chantry was torn stone from stone. He remembered the Architect offering an end to the Blights in his cold, dead voice. He remembered plunging a knife into Karl’s heart while the mage looked at him confusedly. It was all distant. A set of facts he might have memorized. He, Anders, had gone into the Chantry at night to talk to Karl and had felt horrified to see the Brand of Tranquility on his forehead. He remembered the look in Karl’s eyes and the Templars’ blood on the floor, hot and sour. But he couldn’t remember what it had felt like down in his gut.

At the same time, he remembered his first time with Karl and that memory made him feel warmth in places he no longer had. The look on Karl’s face in his moment of climax was burned deep inside Anders. But even so, he had to doubt. 

Was he really Anders? Would he know it if he wasn’t? What if he were a construct designed to believe he was Anders? He was certain something in the Fade had the ability to do something like that. But if there was something that could make a construct that believed it was human, couldn’t it also make him think that such a thing was impossible? Or would that destroy his Anders nature?

Anders refocused on his surroundings and shoved the questions away. Ultimately, what did it matter? He felt like Anders.

He entered a hazy, abstract version of the Gallows. It was best to keep moving before the scenery changed on him. He knew the courtyard from dozens of fear fueled incidents with the Hawkes and the Mage Underground. The statues turned their metallic heads to watch him pass.

He knocked on Meredith’s office door and entered. The blonde woman was looking out the window with a distant expression. “What do you want, demon?”

“I was wondering how many visitors you got,” Anders said with a twist of his old levity. “No one comes to my clinic except a hunger demon who likes monologuing about how he can feel my desires. Every time I try to kill him he retreats faster than I can go. Smart bugger.”

Meredith eyed the sword she kept by her desk. “So you continue this charade.”

“I’m really not sure what else to do.” Anders said, leaning against the door frame. “I could pretend to be a demon, I suppose.”

“Even if you are who you claim to be, you’re as bad as any demon.” Meredith said dully.

“And what are you?” Anders fired back in a sudden rage. “Ser Alrik brought you that proposal and you still let him near mages! Every time I visited the Gallows there were more Tranquil! Every time! And why? It was against Chantry Law! It was against everything just!” He stopped himself with a snarl.

-Has it occurred to you that maybe there's no justice in the world? Other than that voice you keep in your head. -

Anders shook his head hard. “I just wanted to be left alone.” He studied Meredith’s eyes and wasn’t sure if what he saw there was a demon toying with him. 

“You’re right,” she said finally, staring at the sword with its red spikes.

“In case you really are the Knight-Commander, not that I doubt Hawke’s ability to kill you, you should know some things the Wardens hid from everybody.” Anders rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “In the Vimmark Mountains there was a prison. I went there with Hawke. It was built by the dwarves for the Wardens not long after the first Blight. There was an altar to Dumat. It was that old. It was built to house a very special Darkspawn.” He paused to try to think some things through. Things that were clearer without the feelings he had been clouded by at the time.

“I’m no Warden. You could be making all of this up,” Meredith said.

“To become a Warden we drink the fresh blood of a darkspawn.” Anders said bluntly. “The Joining is a ritual that makes us Darkspawn. Not all at once. We become immune to the taint by making it part of us. Until it rots through us and we become ghouls with minds. That’s why you never see any retired Wardens.” Anders knew he’d gotten bitter but he kept going. “Either you fall in battle or they make you wander off into the Deep Roads as a reward for a long and successful career. They keep that a secret so that people will join. They’ll accept hardened criminals and maleficar because they know they’re giving them an expiration date. And you can never really walk away because it’s in your blood. They’ll take anybody if they think it will help them stop the Blights.”

“I understand,” Meredith said sharply, the first sign of clarity in her expression. “Rumor said you were a Warden. What does this have to do with me?”

“Most Darkspawn are practically mindless beasts. The taint feeds them and they seek two things. They want the Old Gods and they want women to turn into Broodmothers. The Old Gods sing to them, pull the hordes toward them. The Wardens know the locations of the Old Gods while I’m giving out Warden secrets. The Darkspawn taint the Old Gods and turn them into archdemons. The archdemons talk to the hordes and give them purpose, creating a Blight. That what they tell us anyway. The truth is not all Darkspawn are mindless monsters.”

“This prison was for one of them,” Meredith said neutrally.

“When I was in Amaranthine, the Hero of Ferelden took me with him to fight an intelligent Broodmother. She was mad. Utterly out of her mind. She had created these- Anyway, normal Darkspawn were bad enough. On the way there we encountered an Emissary who called himself The Architect. He had been performing experiments with giving Darkspawn the blood of Wardens. He gave them intelligence but he thought he was unique. The Warden Commander killed him but the ideas he had live on among the Wardens. Some of them think they can find a way to find peace with the Darkspawn. One of them was trying to release the thing at the Vimmark prison. Without the backing of Weisshaupt.” Anders snorted a choked, bitter laugh. “Out of all the things I’ve tried to do, I’m probably not the worst one or the Warden with the highest innocent bodycount.”

“Are you trying to convince me the Wardens are an order of monsters?” Meredith raised her eyebrows.

“Well, they are but some of them are worth helping.” Anders shook his head. “I have an idea and I’m stalling, I know. It’s not easy for me talking to a Templar, you know.” Anders glared at her. “Do you know how many of my friends you made Tranquil? But that’s not why I’m talking to you. I’m talking about corruption.” He eyed the sword and she seemed to draw back. That was one guess borne out. “Corypheus was intelligent and he was more powerful than the Architect. When an archdemon is active, Wardens can hear it too. Being near Corypheus was like that. He was in my head. I kept hearing his thoughts.” Anders fell silent as he pondered that terrible loss of control.

Meredith cleared her throat. “I assume the archdemons don’t cause that reaction in Wardens or they would be useless in a Blight.”

“The archdemons are corrupted, they are not a source of corruption. Like Wardens.” Anders said softly. “He could touch me like that and he was dreaming. He was stirring but he still wasn’t awake. The wardens had sealed him in with blood magic. Because that’s what it takes, you see? It takes blood.” Even in spirit form he shivered involuntarily. “The Wardens’ records say that the number of maleficar and mages in Kirkwall who become possessed by demons is much, much higher than in any other Circle in Thedas. The Wardens thought Corypheus might have something to do with that. And of course they told no one because they’re the bloody Wardens.”

Meredith looked at her sword and back at Anders. “You’re telling me that if we moved the mages elsewhere, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Would you have believed an anonymous note saying that there was a monster lurking in the Vimmarks turning mages to blood magic?” Anders shook his head. “Besides, it’s worse than that. We- We woke him up. He’d been calling and calling. That’s what the Wardens call it, the Calling. When they start to hear the Old Gods and it’s time for them to die before they become monsters. He had completely duped a Warden into helping him. She had contacted the Carta on his behalf. They’d been drinking Darkspawn blood but without the Joining ritual. They were going to wake him up no matter what. We woke him up to destroy him. And we did. There was an old Warden there named Larius. He’d gone there on his Calling. Poor blighter. We woke Corypheus with his help. And Corypheus said the oddest thing. He thought he was back when the Wardens had put him under. He shouted for an acolyte to talk to the Head Priest of Dumat. He had a Tevinter amulet like the ones from the first Blight. When we tried to tell him how long it had been, he started railing at Dumat. I’ve been thinking about this because of two words. ‘You offered.’ He was yelling at Dumat that he had been offered the power of gods. That he had been offered the Golden Light.” Anders shivered again. “But that all he found was blackness.”

“This is heresy.” Meredith said harshly.

“Yes.”

“You’re trying to tempt me away from the Maker.”

“I’m afraid,” Anders said with another small bitter laugh. “Not of the torment the Chantry promises. He called us insects. He told us we were beneath him. He was that much more powerful. Do you know why Wardens are necessary to end a Blight? Because the Old Gods are not trapped in one form. If an untainted person were to kill an archdemon, it would not be destroyed. It would simply hop into another Darkspawn body and make itself at home. The taint in the Warden draws the archdemon in and their souls destroy each other.” His gaze fell on the sword again. “Larius was so much more articulate after we destroyed Corypheus.” He looked at Meredith again. “And still it gets worse. It doesn’t mean the Maker isn’t real. But if Dumat were corrupted instead of the source of corruption- If this Magister really was offered the Golden City instead of seeking it, and Dumat was not the source, then there is something that lured Corypheus there. Something that corrupted him. There’s something the Chantry never says. Where did the Magisters make their attempt?”

“You have a place in mind, I take it,” Meredith’s tone was brittle.

“Where better than the center of their slave trade? Ser Cullen might have mentioned the mages who planned to throw the Templars into disarray by putting demons into them. Kirkwall was a bad place to be. The walls between it and the Fade are thin.” Anders sighed. “I was an Abomination. I agreed to let a spirit of Justice enter my body. He said that lyrium sang. It reminded him of being in the Fade.” He crossed his arms tightly. “Lyrium sings. The Old Gods sing. We sing the Chant. What if there’s something listening? Something that isn't Andraste or the Maker?” He looked to her hazy window with its greenish, wavering landscape. “It doesn’t excuse what I did. It doesn’t excuse what you did. Can you just tell me if I’m crazy or if we were puppets and I’m finally seeing the strings?”

“I tried to protect the mages from their curse,” Meredith frowned. “It-”

“How much lyrium do Templars take? The reality not the official books on what the Chantry doles out.” Anders interrupted.

“You may have a point,” Meredith said finally.

“The Templars crack down on mages for their vulnerabilities while making themselves vulnerable to the same things. It has a kind of justice to it.” Anders laughed. “You don’t even need lyrium to be a Templar” He became suddenly deathly afraid. Whose will was credited with the creation of the Templars and the Circles. He had an image of Kirkwall as a canary in a coal mine. That would be... bad.

 

***

Shota had sent Samuel on an errand while she made another attempt at scrying. She turned abruptly when she heard footsteps behind her. No one should have been able to enter Agaden Reach without her knowledge yet here was a dark haired woman with golden eyes and a boy with the same coloring. As Shota’s eyes met the boy’s she knew she was outmatched. “What can I do for you?”

“We need to find some friends of ours,” the woman said. Her voice was dark and a little awkward. Her hand remained firmly on the boy’s shoulder.

“And you want me to look for them,” Shota nodded and beckoned them to follow. She went to the room where she kept the large stone basin she used when she was trying to find something less specific than usual. Her bowl of water in her grove was usually more than sufficient but the boy would make it more difficult to see. “Why not do this yourself?”

“He’s my son,” she said, gesturing to the child. “And I’m looking for his father.”

“Blood calling to blood,” Shota studied the boy more carefully as she swirled a hand through the waters, feeling the flow of it in the delicate skin between the bases of her fingers. His cheekbones were a bit higher, his face a bit narrower than his mother’s. His eyes made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. There was very little about the boy that was human. He was a child, an innocent, but she had seen something similar once in a baby born in D’Hara. He was a threat. Once the other witch had gone, Shota would need to revisit the Halls of Prophecy.

***

Cara licked her lips and stared into the fire. For the moment she was just glad to get a break from Darken. Sparring with him was exhilarating as always but she couldn’t afford to keep dwelling on how enjoyable she still found Darken’s company even when they were on different sides of a conflict. It felt too natural.

“You’re asleep,” a boy said from the fire. He stood and came to sit beside her. It took Cara only a brief pause to recognize Anders. “Dreaming is an awful lot like being dead. You’re open to the same sorts of places. Especially when you’ve been there before or opened yourself to things that live there. Or have magic.”

Cara snorted. “I’m seeing more people in my dreams than when I’m awake.”

“Perils of being an adventurer,” the boy smiled.

“Is that how you died?” Cara asked.

Anders’s face fell. “No. That was my fault and not any kind of adventure.”

“If you’re going to haunt my dreams, maybe you could tell me a bit about yourself,” Cara turned to looks at him more squarely.

“You haven’t told them.” Anders sighed and ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. “I was born in the Anderfels. It’s cold, it’s dark, and practically run by the Grey Wardens who are a whole lot of fun. The winters are long and cold and dark. Also, fun.”

“I see,” Cara swallowed a smile.

“Until the Templars came and took me,” Anders said quietly. “I showed signs of magic and someone told the Chantry. They took me to the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. I didn’t like it there. I tried several times to escape. Got a year in solitary for it once. Then I finally escaped. The Templars tasked with bringing me back were killed. I was blamed for it and it was a choice between joining the Taint Brigade and being executed. I chose taint.”

“And so began your adventures,” Cara said archly. She was wary of how his story resonated with hers. Abducted as a child and given a choice between becoming something he obviously didn’t want to be or dying. 

“Well I rather think that swimming a lake to get away from some Templars was an adventure. Oh and seeing Mr. Wiggins get possessed by a rage demon. I miss that cat.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “Wizards.”

Anders laughed. “Yes. Wizards.”

"What did you do?"

It was eerie how the boy's face suddenly became very adult with only a slight change in expression. He was still smiling but the bleakness in his eyes deepened. "Things were alright for awhile. I helped the Warden Commander, served with him. There was adventuring and he stood up to the Templars again to keep me. Then he left to take care of business in Par Vollen. I... left." He propped up his chin with a hand. "The Warden Commander gave me a cat. I gave him to a friend in Amaranthine when the new Commander of the Grey decided he made me too soft. After that..." Anders looked for a moment like he wanted to stop but he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "I allowed myself to be possessed."

Cara wasn't sure what she'd expected. Probably something about sex. Men were at their dimmest and most malleable around an offer of a good tumble. He barely seemed to notice her as he sighed again.

"He wasn't a demon. Not then, I don't think. Together we became something neither of us would have alone. Not for the best either." His smile sharpened. "The Wardens will take cutthroats and blood mages but they draw the line at abominations. So I ran to Kirkwall." He focused on her as she stiffened. "You've heard of it."

We met some people who claimed to be from there," Cara said cautiously.

"Let me guess. Hawke?"

The emotions Cara saw flicker across Anders's face were complex and deep. Exactly the sort of thing she'd be looking for if she were training him. It was the sort of connection a Mord'Sith could twist and yank to get the reactions necessary to give her the keys to breaking down his defenses. "And Fenris." The anger and pain Cara saw flare confirmed her suspicions. "They called the Mother Confessor a blood mage and insisted on fighting us." Cara touched her throat. "It ended with us parting ways."

"That most of you survived says you fight spectacularly well," Anders said. "I met him in Kirkwall. He'd escaped the Blight with his mother and sister and fallen in with Varric. Varric's brother figured with the recent Blight there'd be treasure in places that normally only darkspawn, Wardens, and Legion of the Dead visited and he'd talked Hawke into helping out."

That was more than they'd been able to get out of the group the whole time they'd traveled together. "Hawke's a treasure hunter?"

Anders laughed. "He was a soldier back in Ferelden. Then a deserter when the army was betrayed. Then a smuggler to earn back the bribe money that got him into Kirkwall. Then a treasure hunter when we met. I had acquired maps to the Deep Roads and they wanted them. We made a trade and wound up friends."

Her training responded sharply to the edge he used when he was talking about Hawke. There was a touch of admiration mixed into a swamp of need, a not inconsiderable amount of lust, and the kind of unswerving focus Cara had only ever seen Richard give to Kahlan. Having Hawke there would have been better. To see the way Anders's reactions played off of Hawke's. To know whether it would be more productive to put Anders under the Agiel while Hawke watched or vice versa. Hawke might or might not share Anders's feelings but it would have been impossible for him to miss them. It would be difficult for Hawke not to respond in some way. Everyone wanted to feel special. Mord'Sith used that. When she paid attention to a well behaved pet, that was the gift she bestowed. That was also the danger because having a successfully trained pet made her feel special and could be a distraction. Everything cut both ways.

After a length of silence Anders looked at her earnestly. "He's the one who killed me."

Cara felt her expression go blank and unreachable. She wondered what it would have felt like if Richard had killed her for allowing Flynn to escape. It probably would have felt right. She had given her loyalty and failed. She saw that feeling of rightness in Anders's eyes and felt herself being cut by it. Even as her mind told her that she'd been chosen to be Mord'Sith because she was empathetic and it was her training that made her want to reach out for that pain, grab it, hold it close and rub it over her own raw nerves and hurt him for making her feel his pain- the fist spasming around the Agiel- but she didn't have to... her mind still spun out strategies for how to break Anders. Richard said she didn't have to. She wanted to. It would be easy.

"I killed a lot of innocent people. I put him in a position where he needed to kill me." Anders continued softly. "I knew it when I did it. It wasn't fair to anybody." He sighed again. "There's no excuse."

"Then why do it?" Cara demanded harshly.

"Desperation," Anders said simply. "The Templars ruled the city. Most of the people who didn't think their leader was the one holding the city together were too afraid to say anything in case they found themselves next to be executed. I made sure the situation was intolerable for everyone."

The posture and the tone of the words echoed memories of Darken. All he needed to do was start brooding out a window for the overlap to be complete. But he wasn't a Rahl and there was no accompanying tug of conflicted loyalty. Instead, she felt that niggling tickle of planning in case Anders became Richard's enemy. Enemies and rivals were the only people who could be trusted. Enemies and rivals would act in their own interests. Friends and allies were where the real danger came from. Those who didn't declare themselves one way or the other didn't truly exist. They were an illusion. Anders was looking for an alliance. She couldn't give it to him. "I think I understand more now. Their reaction to the Mother Confessor wasn't unexpected, the brutality of it wasn't unusual."

"The people of Thedas fear blood magic," Anders said. "And rightly so. It's dangerous and the first thing mages turn to for freedom." The disgust was thick in his voice.

Cara pondered the possible connection between the way the kidnappers had used Annabelle's blood, calling Con Dar blood rage, and Hawke's accusations. "He called her that when she Confessed a sorceress. There was no blood." Pretending ignorance and seeing how the subject explained served both to keep her own knowledge to herself and see what he was willing to say plainly.

"What's Confession? I'm sorry but it's a spell I'm not familiar with," Anders said. "Is it a truth spell?"

Cara looked him over for signs of playing the same game and found less than she hoped. "I'm no wizard and neither is she. I don't know how it works. If it's a spell, it's the only one she can use. She touches someone and that person-"

"Becomes her thrall?" Anders interjected.

Cara paused only briefly. "That's not how she describes it." If she had been Kahlan, she would have made sure all potential enemies knew exactly how much she could hurt them. But Kahlan might not approve. Richard might not approve. It might be useful to be vague on the limits of it.

Anders snorted, that bitterness back in the corners of his smile. "How does she describe it?"

"They fall in love with her," Cara said, looking down her nose at him.

"Fenris threatened to take her head off unless she lifted it, didn't he?" Anders wasn't a Mord'Sith by any stretch of the imagination. Every emotion that passed through him was shouted through every detail of his posture and expression. It scraped at her in a way she found surprisingly deep. She was used to feeling bruised and aching inside and out.

"He did," Cara said shortly, trying to sort the source of Anders's amusement from the bitterness and anger. If he was amused at his own reactions the way Darken was from time to time that pointed to a realization that caused her own surprise. That was what she could get from Zedd but not Richard or Kahlan. Someone who knew their reactions and didn't wholly trust those reactions. Humor was a defense, even a defense against self. The desire to feel something familiar was something she constantly guarded against. It had been a revelation when she'd understood that many people didn't know what it felt like to doubt one's reactions to other people's reactions. That made her a little envious but mostly worried. Without understanding that way of living, people were incapable of understanding her sister Mord'Sith. Trust through paranoia was the way the House of Rahl worked. Anders might though. That made her vulnerable to him if he figured that out. On the other hand, a well armed, well informed opponent was less dangerous than an underinformed one. "The Templars watched you all the time, didn't they?"

Anders blinked at the abrupt change in topics and nodded.

Cara felt herself relax and debated on whether that was safe or not. Caution was good, anxiety was not and keeping track of which was what she felt was the only way she could remain useful to Lord Rahl. She decided that he had just relieved an anxiety and being slightly more relaxed was warranted. The transparency of his reactions wasn't false, just misleading. Where the Mord'Sith had encouraged her to tighten down on her reactions so she wasn't constantly flinging every stray emotion at them, he had learned that misleading openness to put observers at their ease. "What would they have done with the Mother Confessor?"

"Cut her off from the Fade most likely." Anders said with a placidity that held a hollowness that made Cara ache too. "I used to be so afraid of that. I've heard it's like all the music and color goes out of the world. The Tranquil feel nothing and don't regret a thing." He shivered. "Blood mages give us all a bad name and encourage the Templars to make us all Tranquil."

"The Mother Confessor is a good woman," Cara said without any hint of pleading. It was a fact, that was all.

"Who forces people to love her and do her bidding," Anders sighed, "with magic."

"She says it's the purpose she was made for by the creator," Cara said, having no opinion on the topic. The Mother Confessor was a good woman and so long as Cara's Lord Rahl kept Kahlan among his favorites, Cara would defend her to the death.

"Is that supposed to reflect well on the Creator?" Anders asked. Cara doubted the anger in his tone was directed at her or Kahlan. "It doesn't matter. You should know that she's working the will of your Keeper too. Her power stems from both. It's almost time for me to go. Think about it."

"You expect to wear me down?" Cara asked ruefully.

"I hope that someone someday will listen to reason. Including me." Anders said.

Cara jolted upright as she felt Richard's hand on her shoulder.

***

Sketch kept his head down as they passed through a small farming community. He supposed they thought of themselves as a village but after all the time he'd spent hiding in Val Royeaux and Denerim and Gwaren he found it hard to think of the wide spot in the road with the store as a center of population worth naming. He smacked another flying insect as it tried to decide whether or not elven mages would taste good. "You've been quiet," he muttered to Tallis. Not that Tallis was normally chatty but she usually had some spring in her step. She'd been drooping for a couple of days and it was getting to Sketch. She reminded him of Leliana. In a good way. Mostly. Leliana may have gotten him in over his head more than a few times but she had also worked to get him back out again when she could.

Tallis shrugged. "I'm going to scout ahead some more." She was gone before Hawke or Fenris had done more than look her direction.

Sketch shifted uncomfortably, thinking of the future. "If the Warden found a way here, don't you think he has a way back?"

"We don't," Fenris noted curtly.

"Yes, but you have me and I'm unlikely to learn anything to get us back." Sketch said. He'd always preferred doodling to reading. That might have been a mistake but where was an elven apostate going to get material on interdimensional magic? Alright, maybe Kirkwall. Kirkwall was a bit heavy on the demonology texts and the Templars in combinations than seemed unhealthy to Sketch.

"What are you suggesting?" Hawke asked.

"If I decided to say, visit the next village longer than you, would you wait with me or keep going?" Sketch asked. It was a world that so far seemed not exactly hospitable to mages but the opposition was definitely less organized and there were no Tranquil. It might be an alright place to start over. No Antivans for another thing.

"If you want to come back to Thedas with us, you keep up," Hawke said. "Otherwise, I'm not going to force you."

"One less mage to worry about," Fenris grumbled.

"Thank you," Sketch said, remembering that the Champion's sister had grown up an apostate. He saw understanding in Hawke's gaze and relaxed. He considered what he would do with himself if he could live without worrying about the Templars.

***

Shota watched Darrian paint his dog. She nearly recognized the whorls and the pattern they were laid out in. That bit there on the shoulder reminded her strongly of one of the old signs for strength. The way the pattern interlocked reminded her of the one for healing. The overall effect would be one that would strengthen the dog. It wasn't surprising that someone who drew the gaze of the spirits as strongly as the Warden would have access to magics she hadn't seen except in libraries. It surprised her that the magic flowed through him so smoothly. The child bore some resemblance to the Warden but except for the facial structure, he resembled his mother.

Darrian, Zevran, and Ariane all shared some physical characteristics that Shota found fascinating. They reminded her ever so slightly of spiders. Their limbs were inhumanly long and their torsos were too narrow for a human. Their necks were too long and their eyes were too large. The result was magnetic and disturbing. It lent their stride an odd bouncing lope that translated into startling speed in combat. One of the more intriguing surprises were the tattoos on Ariane's face. The patterns on Rabbit were old. The tattoos on Ariane were ancient.

A chill ran down Shota's spine as she swirled her hand through the water again. Morrigan had left for the Pillars of Creation with her son and Shota had continued watching the party. She had learned their names, seen them bicker and encourage each other. She had seen Darrian and Sigrun tormented by dreams of a music just out of reach. Shota had been forced to save herself from that Seeing by dumping the water and cleansing her bowl. The sound of drums had pursued her sleep for three nights. The feeling of evil had taken another two days to fade. She resented the time lost but there was no way she could open herself while the taint remained with her. Samuel had spent those days cowering from her rages. Shota was sorry about that but couldn't tell him.

Renewing her safeguards again, she tried to calm herself and think through how best to deal with the threat she saw when she closed her eyes. She had seen the dragon like the ones of old as it burned villages to ashes and steam. Rivers choked with dead fish stagnated in noxious pools. She couldn't find the place where it all went wrong or the point where the change could be made. It had to be somewhere. The Halls of Prophecy had been ominously vague on the subject.

Couched in the usual grandiose and overly obtuse language, it translated to something like:

In the time of demons and elder gods  
Salvation will be found in the blood of weeds

In the original text it had better meter and rhymed and all the things obscure prophecies were supposed to do. It was also unenlightening which Shota suspected prophecies were also supposed to be.

Loathe as she was to admit it, it might be time to call on Zeddicus.

***

Being a Baneling was both more difficult and easier than Cara would have thought. The killing was harder than she had expected. Not the act itself, that was routine. It wasn't until she had to kill that Cara noticed just how complicated it was with the others around. Still, the area they traveled through was populated thickly with people even the Seeker and The Mother Confessor were content to see dead. Then the Mother Confessor had been kidnapped by trained gars which sounded like the punchline to a bad joke. The only man with trained gars anywhere in the area was the Margrave of Rothenberg. A man with a magic proof castle, a private army, and enough money to keep reality at bay. He was also on the market to buy a wife. A new wife, the first one having fallen out of favor. Zedd's plan to impersonate one of the Margrave's candidates and entourage had worked. More or less. She had felt some concern over entering the Margrave's magic free zone. Since she hadn't turned into a rotting corpse she guessed it had been alright. Then again, after hearing the Margrave's plans, perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise. The wizard claimed to be unable to cast spells and the sorceresses certainly couldn't but the Margrave had felt confident that any deal with the Keeper would hold in spite of the protections against magic.

She had killed a guard the first night and made it look like an accident. Then a man had mysteriously disappeared during the shadrin hunt. The fight to escape had been exhilarating and had provided her with a day to leave Rothenberg behind. They had rescued Kahlan from the dungeons and almost killed the Margrave. The team was back together and Cara had too much time to think at night.

Cara didn't really sleep anymore. She closed her eyes and thought of the dead. Darken visited two nights out of three for a quick chat about why she should work for him again and Anders visited more infrequently for longer conversations about the world, religion, and bits of their lives. She never told him what she felt or gave away the keys to her self. The memories it stirred took up much of the time the others slept and she was alone. Memories of things Cara hadn't thought she would dwell on again.

Mistress Dahena had been introduced to her when Mistress Nathair was confident Cara was ready to begin training others. Cara had heard she died at the Battle of Rondaxe, touched by a Confessor. So many of her sister Mord'Sith had died and that was what they were intended to do, die in battle for their Lord Rahl. What wasn't supposed to happen was for the Sisterhood to die. Mord'Sith relied on one another because they were the true family. Blood families were destructive and betrayed each other.

Cara had spent too much time contemplating that statement in light of her trial. She was sorry she had killed her father for a lie. He was dead for the wrong reasons and that was down to Mistress Nathair's failings. Her father hadn't wanted to lie and say he had sold her to the Mord'Sith. Cara's teacher had been forced to take away his voice. That was clumsy. She should have been able to convince him it was in Cara's best interests that she think him a traitor and build on that.

Dennee, Kahlan's sister, had been one of the targets Darken had trusted only to Cara.

~

_Cara had landed on the island of Valeria. The boat contained the boatman, herself, and three of her sisters. They fanned out and traveled swiftly up the faded trail from the dock. Weeds had almost overgrown it entirely but it was kept clear of trees and sturdier brush. There was a small, badly built hut in a clearing twenty minutes from the dock._

_"Finn! Finn!" The Confessor shrieked as she snatched a bundle from the ground shaded by the roof. "Defend me!"_

_After sending the others to subdue Finn, Cara ran after Dennee. It was downhill and muddy. She hadn't spared a thought for Finn. Her sisters could defeat him easily and she could best help them by killing his Confessor. Without her, he would have no reason to fight them. So she tore through the underbrush, letting the plants slap at her leathers until she came to the river. It was reckless but it had made sense at the time. No hesitation._

_The Confessor had looked up with wild, desperate eyes. "You've lost! You've lost!" She shouted over and over as Cara approached. She held a knife in one hand unsteadily, her balance thrown by keeping one hand in the water._

_The water had pooled more quietly in the stretch of riverbank the Confessor had chosen. It dragged at Cara's legs as she fought. The water was close to hip deep and the Confessor's drenched skirts tangled around her legs. The fight was quicker than it should have been, the water forcing Dennee to exaggerate each maneuver. Cara exploited each mistake, every hitch in the woman's breathing that threw off her aim. The Confessor died screaming._

_It was only after the fight was over that Cara widened her focus enough to look at what Dennee had been holding on to. The baby's corpse was too cold to revive. She carried him up the slope and looked at her failure. She didn't think of the one she wasn't thinking about. She just laid the baby on the grass and stared blankly for a moment._

_Regular families betrayed one another._

~

Cara looked into the fire and wished Darken would come to take her mind off her memories. The dead were filling her mind like they were filling the world of the living. Her father had loved her too much to bear her thinking ill of him. Would he have rather seen her dead than a Mord'Sith? Did he love her so much he would have kept her from the pain of her training? Had he ever understood why he died? He should have known.

Through the lens of her training she saw the desperation in her father's face and the rage in Kahlan's sister's. Felt it in her own guts.

~

_Her father came back from a trip to the next town, bringing cloth and a shiny bauble for each of his women. She and Grace ran and tackled his legs while he told them how much he had missed them._

~

He had deserved to know why he was dying. She hoped he'd had at least that much. But could someone like her father really understand?

-Do you know why we chose you?-

-No, Mistress.-

-Some people can see more variations in shades of color. Where one man might see red another will see five different shades of red. Some of these men become painters. They can see the variations and play them, producing wonders. Some people merely see emotion; joy, sorrow, longing, anger, dread, anticipation. You are one of the ones who sees the many variations. Not just fear but the degree of fear. You feel it. It makes you an artist.-

Cara had once asked Anders about the people he had killed. He claimed it was between him and them. She wasn't sure what to make of that but she supposed she felt similarly. When her duty was done and she went to the Underworld, she might seek her father out. And Dennee and that guard and that guard and Denna and Mistress Nathair. And her mother. And Darken.

For a time after her teacher's death, Cara had wondered about her father's worthiness. It mattered. But not the way the Mother Confessor thought it did.

When Richard had ordered her to convince Shota to help him get his grandfather back, Cara had realized something. She was Mord'Sith. She served Lord Rahl. When Richard wanted something, he wanted it as wholly as Darken. He was sincere when he said that torture and killing so called innocents were wrong. He sincerely believed that the things she had been trained to do were wrong. But when he wanted something, he didn't care. He had told her to torture Shota and hadn't spared a thought for her. Which was exactly as it should be. She was Mord'Sith and in the end, being Mord'Sith made her useful to her Lord Rahl.

That was her key. Part of her training was to recognize those keys in others. Richard's love for Kahlan was key. Denna had recognized that and tried to exploit it. The primary use was in training men but of course they used it on each other. A Mord'Sith who couldn't recognize her own keys was too vulnerable to be allowed to advance. The act of training was one that opened the Mord'Sith to the one being trained even as they opened the one they were training.

-We create the bond but that doesn't make it false.-

-Mistress?-

-They rely on us and we rely on them. In the early stages, they please us to make the torment stop. Later on, they will do it because they love you. But you have to love them for them to love you. The love is real, it binds you together.-

Constance loved brutality. She needed to physically dominate even the partners she had among the Mord'Sith. Except for Denna who Constance would have thrown herself off a bridge for. Denna needed to know why people worked. She took them apart and put them back together in the way that suited her. But she lost interest very quickly after she had satisfied that need. Mistress Nathair had needed the love of her children. She couldn't allow her children to remember their childhoods fondly. It served as a vital piece of training but she had needed it. She had trained recruits because it fit her strengths and weaknesses. She had difficulty finding the keys for the men whose training made up a great deal of Mord'Sith duties. That was why Cara's father had suffered unnecessary mutilation. Garen needed to be the dependable one. She wasn't driven to be out in front but she wouldn't turn it away either. Garen was slower about her work but always solid. Dahlia-

Cara needed to be the one in front. Cara needed to be the clever one who solved the difficult problems. Cara needed to be the one Lord Rahl was so certain of, he wouldn't even question that she was the right woman for the job. As long as it didn't involve too much time spent picking people apart. That was best left to those who enjoyed it. Like Denna had been..

***

"Pretty. What do we blow up first?" Sigrun asked brightly, surveying the beautiful countryside.

"The rumors were about invisible lizard people. I'm sure we'll find a nice cave somewhere to explode," Darrian said, adjusting the way his shield hung and rubbing Rabbit behind the ears.

"If they're invisible how do we know they're lizards?" Finn asked with a frown. "Do they jump out and shout, 'Hello, I'm a lizard!' Would anyone survive if they did?"

"Finn," Ariane said, eyebrows raised.

"What? Oh, fine. Ignore me." Finn grumbled.

"Ignoring wasn't quite what I had in mind," Ariane smiled.

"Children," Zevran said. "Why can't we all just get along?"

"One, you're not getting along with anyone without me there," Darrian said. "Two, your definition of getting along is different from most people's. Three, we need to be listening for invisible lizard people."

"You are in a take charge sort of mood, yes?" Zevran grinned. "I like it."

Sigrun took up her usual mutterings about the relative sanity of surfacers.

***

Fenris took the first watch, Ulf panting beside him. After a moment Fenris sighed and put his arm around the dog's shoulders. He dug his bare toes into the dirt with something close to a smile. They had cleared out another nest of slavers that day. It was only a couple days out of their way and none of them could stand to simply walk by. He tightened his grip on Ulf as he thought of all the people who just ignored the slavers. Hawke and Aveline had never left it alone. It seemed so obvious when he was talking to them.

Tallis sat up and started cleaning her knives. Fenris still wasn't ready to trust the Qunari not to put her religious convictions above everything in spite of her claims to not being a zealot. The quiet since Sketch had gone his own way was making him edgy. He could only listen to Hawke comment on the trees, the weather, the hordes of undead, and the trees so many times before he wanted to hit Hawke with a tree. "So, you're Ben-Hassrath."

"That's what I said," Tallis said, glancing toward where Hawke was sprawled next to the fire, knives close to hand.

"It means fighting. Qunari women do not fight." Fenris said.

"I have certain skills. I use them. If I cannot join the Qun as a woman, then I do not need to be a woman in the eyes of the Qun," Tallis shrugged and uttered another platitiude. Fenris was very tired of hearing those. He wasn't quite certain she was using them correctly and since he had killed anyone he could have asked, had no way of knowing.

"Interesting," Fenris said since something had to fill the silence.

"Go keep your boyfriend warm. I'll take first watch." Tallis gave him a humorless smile.

Fenris gave Ulf a stern look. "Keep an eye on her." He stripped off his gloves and the pointier bits of his skin tight black armor before folding himself up next to Hawke. Even in his sleep, Hawke responded to Fenris, curling toward him. He rested his head on Hawke's shoulder and sighed.

***

"Keeper's Blight?" Cara asked, looking around the monument at the huddled sick. She was reminded uncomfortably of what Anders had said about Darkspawn carrying an illness with them.

"They come here believing the monument will heal them. Most die within days," the man said sadly.

Cara was unsurprised when Zedd's attempted healing failed. The Keeper was refining his weapons. A sign that he was not as prepared as he might have been or a sign that he had not been capable of unleashing his full force before. The woman was the surprise.

"She's the Creator, I'm the Queen of Tamarang," Cara said to Anders after it was over.

"Could she be possessed? An abomination?" Anders asked curiously. "A woman home to a being of the Fade."

"That would make her more powerful than a wizard of the First Order," Cara wasn't quite asking. They had spoken of blood magic in nearly every one of the conversations.

"The mana flows sluggishly in your world. In mine, the limits of a mage's power are the forces he or she is willing to call on and the knowledge the mage possesses. If a mage knows a spell and can concentrate the appropriate energies, the mage can work the spell. In your world they need some innate capacity to draw power to them. A sp- demon would certainly allow her to-" Anders sighed. "She sounds like a spirit healer." At Cara's curious look he continued. "That's what I was when I joined the Wardens."

"That would make her different from the other sorceresses?" Cara asked, thinking it over.

"The ones I was taught to call demons want a way into the world of the living. The Dalish insist that demons and spirits are not that different. I have been given reason to agree with the Dalish. Demons whisper to all mages. Your Creator and Keeper have taken that on for themselves. Spirits are only interested in certain ones. It gives us- them- greater skill at healing. The spirit lends its strength to the healing spell. The demons make bargains with one another frequently. Intent and emotion are what the Fade works by," Anders had fallen to muttering to himself. Cara wanted to poke him with her Agiel to hurry him up. "You said she was raised as a vessel and the sorceresses handed her their power? So a vessel prepared from childhood receiving something from the Fade... There are several possibilities there. The Creator could have possessed her but that would mean meshing with her personality which, trust me, is not something a spirit wants. The Creator could be directing her without taking her over but then she'd be more likely to claim to be a prophet than the Creator herself. It could be that the Creator is getting desperate. You said this was a response to the Keeper bringing in a new weapon. She could have allied herself with a demon and allowed the demon to possess the woman."

"She ran away for a boy," Cara said, rolling her eyes.

"Abruptly becoming a new person?" Anders suggested. "Demons are tricky. It's all about emotion. It sounds like if that is what happened, then the Creator placed severe limits on the demon. She wouldn't rob it of its persuasive power though. It isn't what they say, it's who they say it to."

"Speaking from personal experience?" Cara asked.

"Every mage on Thedas has that kind of experience," Anders frowned. "What was the overall effect? She let you go, smiling. What's changed?"

"Richard and Kahlan are nauseatingly in love, as always." Cara shook her head.

"Did this woman inflame any jealousies? Who did she speak to the most?"

"Kahlan," Cara felt... worry. For Kahlan.

"Is Kahlan angrier? More desperate?" Anders hugged his knees. "On the surface, she attacked Richard. Under it, how did Kahlan respond?"

"She has more belief, it was fading." Cara began pacing. "She's-"

"More certain that she's right? She just argued a god herself into agreement." Anders prompted. "Does she have something she wanted, or something she feels she deserves?"

"She... wanted," Cara would not betray Kahlan by revealing all she knew of Kahlan's inner workings. "We should have left."

"You might have been talking to a desire demon," Anders said. "They offer what you want. Material things, dead loved ones, recognition, knowledge. Their gifts are all cankered at the root."

Cara sighed. She knew how to manipulate men's desires. At its finest, the Agiel was to distract the man while she got under his guard and did her real work. An attack on Richard would be more painful to Kahlan than any Agiel. Not just an attack on him but an attack on his legend, his reputation, his cause. And while she was focused on that pain, Maia had manipulated Kahlan. She looked at the ghost of a man who could be feeding her dangerously false information. He could be her enemy. He could be manipulating her mistrust of Maia to make her think of him as the ally who helped her know what had been done to one of her companions. Hesitation killed. She could not afford to think of him as reliable. Her only duty, her only attachment was to Lord Rahl and those he kept close to him. Like Kahlan. "This is why no one trusts mages in your world."

She had meant the words as sword thrust to back him away but the sadness and rage in his eyes wasn't quite the way she had expected it to be. "Yes. It is."

***

Shota took a deep breath. "Zedd."

Zedd flailed a little as he tucked himself away. "Some warning next time."

"You didn't listen to me before but you need to listen now," Shota ignored him, keeping her voice down so the others couldn't hear. "You need to go to the Pillars of Creation. You can't let the Sisters of Light get their hands on a boy. He looks like a boy but he has the soul of a dragon."

"Dragons have been gone for-"

"You met elves. Three of them. The elves are all gone too." Shota's eyes widened. "Zeddicus. This is about more than this world. There are so many lives at stake. Please trust me this time." She put her palm against Zedd's cheek.

Zedd took a steadying breath. "We're supposed to follow the compass."

Shota looked down and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Shota," Zedd said.

"Well, I won't get in your way this time," Shota stepped away and back to Agaden Reach.

***

Morrigan turned and saw Darrian Tabris coming her direction. "I asked you not to follow me."

"You know I couldn't do that," Darrian said. "Is- is that him?" He went to his knees while Zevran drew his blades.

"You really feel this much connection to the product of one night of premeditated sex to save your life?" Morrigan asked, disbelieving. All she knew of the connection between a father and his children came from stories. Stories Morrigan had always suspected of undue melodrama. "Why?"

"My cousin Soris and my cousin Shianni and I grew up together. They were like my siblings. I know you never had that and I can't explain it. I'm not asking to be his father but I want to know he's ok. I want to know Soris's kids are ok. After Shianni died..." Darrian looked helplessly at Morrigan.

"You wish to replace your cousin with my son?" Morrigan asked, eyebrow arched.

"In the alienage, family was all we had. He's your son. He's still my family." Darrian paused. "And your mother has been seen again."

***

Sketch followed the road until he decided to stop. A woman with red hair was getting water from the common well when he approached, leaning on his staff. "Know of any work around here?"

She smiled as she turned, then flinched back from his face. After she'd recovered, she gave him a more hesitant smile. "I might know of some. My name is Jennsen."

"Sketch," he offered her his hand.

"Come on," her smile widened a little. "I'll talk to Sean."

***

"The compass has changed direction," Richard announced.

"Are you sure?" Kahlan asked, looking at it closely.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Richard looked at the trees. "We're headed south now."

"South?" Zedd stood straight up. When the three of them turned to face him. "Shota told me we should go to the Pillars of Creation which are south of here."

"I-" Cara started and put a gloved hand to her throat. "I've been having dreams that say the same thing."

"We can't afford to get distracted," Kahlan said firmly.

"We should follow the compass," Richard said. "Maybe the Stone's been moved to the Pillars."

"Or maybe the Keeper's agents are trying to distract us," Kahlan countered.

"If the Keeper can alter the compass we have no chance of finding anything anyway," Richard pointed out.

"It could be a trap," Cara said.

"We have no other way forward," Richard said.

***

Cara saw the Pillars and the camp spreading out under it. Men, women, children, and a dog sat under a canvas in the late afternoon heat. Closer, she saw that what she had mistaken for a child was actually a short woman of unusual proportions. The facial tattoos were too faded to belong to a child. She put a hand on her Agiels and steeled herself for a possible battle.

"I think we met people looking for you," Richard said, holding up empty hands. "They had a dog like yours."

"Did they say what they wanted?" One of the elves said, a hand on his dog's back.

"We were looking for you," Hawke said as his party came from the east.

"I killed you." Tallis squinted suspiciously at Cara.

Cara glared back and was distracted a dark haired woman began chanting. Fenris drew his sword but not before the woman cut her arm. She touched her bloody palm to the pillar as the boy shouted a word that hurt Cara's soul. Abruptly her soul was on fire and then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_Once there was a prophecy. Once it was spoken, it could never be unheard. It made its way to an old man with a great deal of power and the will to use it. In the prophecy he saw justification and with magic he struck down a baby. The child’s father had more magic at his disposal and with it he raised the child back into the world of the living. Unknown to him, what crawled into the baby’s corpse was not what had left it. Or rather, not only the dead child. A Spirit crept through the hole torn by the return of the child’s soul and followed that soul straight to its destination._

_The child was not old enough to resist and not old enough to help the Spirit. Eventually, the Spirit forgot it had ever been anything other than flesh and bone. Together the child and Spirit passed the time, growing into one being, melding experiences and thoughts. Sometimes the father saw the Spirit lurking behind his son’s eyes. Then came the day the boy discovered he had magic. The Spirit almost stirred free but from outside a force came and pushed it down, completing the spell of forgetfulness that so long in flesh had begun._

_That voice from outside the world of warmth and sense waited while the Spirit and the boy as one sought the illogic of blood magic, the tearing down of boundaries that only made sense to flesh. More like home for the Spirit and more like safety for the boy. Deeper and deeper they delved together into the way the power in blood let them warp the world to their will. And all the while that voice from outside whispered of still more power._

_The day the boy and Spirit embraced death all over again, the voice’s hold became inescapable. What returned again to flesh and blood was not mortal and never had been._

-

“Do you see?” Anders asked Cara, gripping her hand tightly.

She looked up at an island floating in a green sky. “What was that?” Cara asked. She’s had the impression of scales and claws and flames.

“A dragon. I don’t know which one.” Anders did not let go of her hand. “I don’t know what hold your Keeper has on him. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. You see why certain beings are nervous. Your Creator had to know about such a thing and some of her kind are nervous.”

“You don’t know much.” Cara flexed her fingers

“Worshiping dragons is a big thing where I come from. A stupid thing and out of fashion but it keeps happening.” Anders shrugged. “We need to go back to your friends.” He led her by the hand and between one step and the next, they were in the Underworld. “You see?” he whispered in her ear.

Cara looked across and saw a man, a man she’d bedded and served body and soul. And yet, the outline wavered. There was a man but there was also a dragon and across from him there was a boy who was similarly vague with a scaled, winged outline. After the strange folding of the islands, it somehow seemed like a matter of course that a man and a boy occupied the same space as two dragons. She could see a medallion around the Darken-dragon’s neck. “He doesn’t know.”

“What?” Anders frowned.

“He doesn’t know he’s a dragon.” Cara smiled.

-

Zedd looked to his left and saw two blond children standing together, holding hands. He didn’t recognize either of them until he saw the fierce look in the smaller one’s green eyes. Two blond children in dirty clothes when nearly everyone else was naked. He flicked a glance toward Darken to see if the other man reacted to their presence and instead found Darken staring intently at the witch’s son. For his part, the boy was staring back with unblinking golden eyes.

The longer Zedd watched, the more similarities he saw between man and boy. The same fair skin and dark hair, similar noses, and the same predatory glare.

“He is not meat for your Master,” the witch spat. 

A man with his face hidden drew his sword. In the patch of skin exposed around his wrist, Zedd could see throbbing veins of black. In the shadows of the helmet, the man’s eyes glowed with a white sheen. The short woman with the long arms took up a similar pose. She had more skin exposed, the same shade of grey. A network of oozing black veins seemed to crawl across her neck, up her cheeks, and throbbed at her temples. Her eyes held the same white sheen. Something like the cloudiness of a dead animal’s eyes but at the same time something virulent, something that felt like it was watching them all from under a rock. Something that reminded Zedd of maggots and the utter wrongness of the openings to the Underworld.

“You have no hold on us, you must allow us to pass,” the witch said confidently.

Zedd glanced again at the children as they eased back through the rock wall, the boy whispering in Cara’s ear. He raised his hands and wove a web of fire, most of his magic felt distant, like reaching through rock, but Wizard’s Fire drew directly on his life force and that was still there at the center of him.

As he called to mind the fire he wanted, his arms became translucent and faded. He looked down and saw the same fading below, like he was made of a glass with a milky wizard colored impurity laced through it. He gritted his teeth and held the web steady, ready to unleash it at the man responsible for separating him from his daughter and granddaughter. He fed that anger and grief into the web. There was no telling what effect casting it would have on him personally (doubtless not good) but it couldn’t be worse in the long run than allowing the Seeker to fall into the Keeper’s clutches. 

Darken tilted his head, listening to something Zedd couldn’t hear. “My Master says you may be on your way.” He gestured into the shadows and an oily darkness spread out on the floor becoming deeper and darker in a way even a Wizard of the First Order couldn’t follow. “Well, go on then.” Darken smirked at Richard. “Run away and leave the world above to the Keeper. It’s not like anyone is relying on you to save them. That girl of yours in Westland, what was her name?” His smile deepened. “Oh well. I suppose it won’t matter much longer.”

“Send us back!” Richard demanded.

“Send you back?” Darken raised his eyebrows. “You want the Keeper of the Underworld, who is prophesied to be defeated by the Seeker, to send you, the Seeker, back to the world of the living. Why would he do such a thing?”

Richard drew the Sword of Truth and angled it in a threatening manner.

“Richard, I’m already dead.” Darken said pityingly. “Your wizard could cause me some pain but my Master has my soul and I have endured- luxuriated in Mistress Cara’s attention. I doubt he has more than a shot or two in him.” Darken finished, looking speculatively at Zedd.

The witch cleared her throat loudly. “I have a compromise unless the two of you wish to spend the rest of the day posturing.”

“What?” Richard and Darken asked with nearly identical glares.

“What if I guarantee that he won’t remain the Keeper’s tool. With him fighting the Keeper, His machinations will slow down considerably. Perhaps long enough for you to find a way to return.” She told Richard. When he took a breath and frowned, she pressed on. “I do not have the power to send you back. Your blood witch knows I speak the truth.” She tilted her head toward Kahlan. “And as this... gentleman,” she paused to smirk secretively at Darken, “has so aptly said, those who have the power will not.”  
Richard bristled but it was Darken who spoke. “And how would you guarantee that?”

“She believes she has a way,” Kahlan said cautiously.

“How? Why would I let you?” Darken demanded more angrily.

The witch turned to look at her son. “You already know but you’ve forgotten.” She looked Darken straight in his eyes, the same blue as Jennsen’s. “Or do you wish to spend eternity in service to a being who, however powerful, cares not a bit for what you want.” she smiled again at his expression. “I thought not.” She nodded to the boy.

The child drew a dagger and nicked his thumb. Holding it up for Darken’s inspection, a feral grin lit his face. “All the magic of the world comes back to blood.”

Darken hesitated and Zedd thought he could see a conflict raging behind the other man’s eyes. Darken shook the boy’s hand and Zedd could see all the signs of fear and something surprising. He realized that Darken _hoped_ to be free of the Keeper. This monster who had betrayed all life hoped to be free of even that promise, heaping betrayal on betrayal. And yet, the witch was right. Darken was a lesser evil than the Keeper.

Holding his hand up to his face, Darken sniffed the blood like an animal even as the witch tended her son’s injury. The former ruler of D’Hara closed his eyes and his nostrils flared before he put his hand over his mouth. If he had been doing it for effect he would have made a show of licking it. Instead, Zedd felt as if he were witnessing a deeply private moment. Looking away, he saw that the boy was watching Darken with the friendliest look he’d seen on the child so far.

He turned back to Darken and caught the man opening his eyes. They were now the same golden color as the witch’s and the boy’s. He smiled it was the smile Zedd had seen before but he felt like there was something missing and something added.

“We should all be free,” the child said, smiling now.

“I remember you from when you were older,” Darken said. “Urthemiel, yes? You always were an idealistic one.” He took a deep breath and threw back his shoulders, his voice humming in Zedd’s bones in a way it hadn’t a moment before. He turned those yellow eyes on Zedd and smiled. “I have a gift for you, old man. They will arrive where the lady’s tunnel ends.” Darken was there one moment and gone the next.

“Shall we or do you want to wait for another servant to arrive?” the witch demanded and touching her son’s shoulder, she started into the oily darkness.

Zedd released his grip on the web of Wizard’s Fire, watching the color flow back into his robes and boots and hands. He stood aside as Richard went first, the Sword of Truth at the ready and then Kahlan, her white dress gleaming like bone. The two rotting warriors nodded to Zedd.

“You can go first, mage. We’ll bring up the rear.” The taller said. “I’m Darrian Tabris and this is Sigrun.”

“You’re-” Zedd began.

“We’re Tainted. We know.” Sigrun said cheerfully.

Zedd gave her a long look and Darrian shrugged. Zedd hurried to catch up with the white of the Confessor’s dress. One moment, all he could see was an oily darkness and all he could feel was a firm slickness under the soles of his boots. Then he could see a green sky and a field of purple grass with a boat grounded on a hill. A bookshelf floated a handspan off the ground and Kahlan stood next to it, flipping through a blank book. He felt superstitiously unwilling to look behind himself.

In front him, he saw the strangers he had met before. Fenris had his enormous sword out and was glaring at everyone but Hawke who was rubbing behind his dog’s ears. Tallis and another red head with pointed ears were comparing gear while a man with a staff fussed with his robes.

“You were not lying when you said you were friends with Morrigan,” the red head with the facial tattoos directed over Zedd’s shoulder. Pivoting, Zedd could see Darrian nod.

“He is not your son in any way that matters.” Morrigan said sharply. “I warned you not to follow me. Twice.” she scowled. “And I never expected my mother to remain dead.”

“You’re the Hero of Ferelden I take it,” Hawke said, straightening. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“What now?” A blond man with pointed ears stepped from behind the boat. “More darkspawn to slay? More politicians to assassinate?”

“The chantry is at war with itself,” Hawke said brusquely. “The Circles are in open rebellion, the Templars are attempting a crack down and Chantry leadership is divided. People are dying everywhere.”

“And we helped start it,” Fenris said sourly. Under the strange green ambience, his markings appeared blue and Zedd could hear a music emanating from them.

Cara appeared in the middle of the field of purple grass. This time she was an adult in her red leathers. “We need to get moving.”

“Get back demon!” Fenris shouted at her.

Cara raised her eyebrows at him and turned to face Richard. “We can’t stop here.”

“She’s right,” Morrigan said. “We’re still in the spirit realm.”

“Why weren’t you with us before?” Zedd asked suspiciously.

“Because she’s a Spirit sent to lead us astray,” Fenris said sharply.

“I am who-” Cara started.

“They can read our thoughts,” Fenris said quickly.

Cara turned to glare at him. “Shut your mouth or I’ll do it for you.”

Zedd abruptly noticed a man in a black coat with feathers on the shoulders. He had brown eyes and blond hair back in a small tail. The man met his eyes and nodded. Next to him was a boy in his mid-teens holding a baby. The infant looked normal enough for the strange green light but the boy was blue and glowing. He was partly transparent as if he were made of glittering, blue water but the features were unmistakably a mix of Panis Rahl and his Queen’s. “Darken is sending himself as reinforcement?” Zedd exclaimed.

The glowing spectre squared his shoulders and spoke with a resonance and command no boy could possess. “I am sent to give you succor and aid in your worthy quest, mortals.”

“Just what we need, more spirits,” Fenris muttered gloomily, casting a challenging look Cara’s way. “And, of course, you would be here.” Fenris directed the last at the man in the black coat.

“I know I can never make up for what I’ve done-” The blond man began.

“No. You can’t.” Fenris bit out, each word a stone flung at the other man.

“I want to help.” He said, holding his hands out with their palms open, eyes beseeching.

It was Hawke who spoke this time, his voice strained with grief. “Even if you are who you appear to be- and that’s a big if, mind you- the last time you tried to help, Kirkwall spent weeks cleaning bits of innocent people out of the streets. You provoked the Templars to full on assault the Circle of Magi! You destroyed the Chantry _and_ Meredith. Whatever Meredith’s faults, the city couldn’t survive losing both her and Elthina. How many mages died because of what you did, Anders? And you made me a part of it by lying to me.”

“I-” Anders began softly. “I remember very little from after I underwent the Joining.”

“So he’s a foul Spirit sent to distract us!” Fenris said, glaring at Anders but also touching Hawke’s shoulder with surprising gentleness.

“So what you’re saying is that things are bad.” Darrian said dryly. “Anders, do you remember me?”

“You saved my life in Amaranthine and you gave me a cat.” Anders said. “You gave me the first home I had since I was dragged off to the Circle. And then you left.”

Darrian looked at Morrigan. “The spirit playing your mother was less convincing.”

“My mother is difficult to duplicate,” Morrigan said serenely. “I say take his help but don’t trust him. It’s not a coincidence that he’s found us here. _Someone_ wants him with us.”

“Treat him the way we treat you. Understood.” A blond elf said in an accent Zedd couldn’t recognize.

“You want us to take Darken Rahl with us?” Richard demanded, outrage and disbelief warring in his tone. “It’s one thing to leave him behind to make a mess for the Keeper, it’s another to treat him like an ally.”

“He has been a wonderful companion for many years,” boomed the Spirit, bouncing the infant.

“Richard meant you,” Kahlan said, frowning.

“I am a Spirit of Valor,” proclaimed the Spirit without a trace of hostility.

Zedd noticed Cara giving Anders a frustrated look while the dead man shrugged. He caught her attention and she nodded toward Richard before rolling her eyes.

“What does that mean?” Kahlan’s frown had deepened into a suspicious scowl. “Are you some sort of demon?”

“I am no demon,” the Spirit boomed wearily. “I was cast into flesh under false pretenses. I merely wished to help the murdered child.” He thrust the infant slightly toward Kahlan. “It was done most ignobly.”

“Who murdered Darken?” Zedd heard the question before he realized he was the one who had asked.

“He styled himself Caracticus of the Zorander family, a mighty wizard. And with that mighty magic, he slew a defenseless babe-in-arms. Foul, most foul.” The Spirit lowered his head, his eyes still visible as two points of light.

“Spirits cannot exist in flesh without becoming demons,” Anders said quietly.

“When young Darken’s father had one of the Servants of Pain draw his son back to the world of the living I-” 

“My father would never kill a baby!” Zedd burst out. “It’s all lies! Panis Rahl murdered my father.”

“It is beneath me to lie to you,” the Spirit looked at Zedd with the eyes of a boy Zedd helped bring into the world. The memory of the part he’d played in these monstrous events made Zedd’s hands clench. “Your father heard a prophecy and like a coward-”

“I accept your help,” Morrigan said swiftly. “We really don’t have time for all this bickering. I don’t care who slew who, who blew who up, or who is lying. We can sort it all out later. Right now, we need to move.”

“Cara still hasn’t answered my first question,” Richard said, eyes narrowed.

“She died and accepted the Keeper’s bargain.” Zedd said, watching Cara’s face. In his heart, he hoped she would scoff at the idea and tell him his best guess was a fantasy. Instead, she looked ashamed.

“I could not leave my Lord Rahl undefended,” Cara turned to follow Morrigan ver the purple rise.

Zedd trailed behind richard and Kahlan as they murmured to each other. Normally, Zedd would assume they were flirting again but from the stiff set of their shoulders he knew that they were mulling over the same information he was and liking it no better. He resolutely refused to believe that his father could have done something so evil as killing a defenseless child even if that child had been the son of Panis Rahl. And yet... What would anyone hope to accomplish by not only coming up with such a lie but bringing along a representation of the innocent Darken had been before things had gone so horribly wrong? Zedd was rattled and mistrustful but he would have been anyway in this place.

“-Spirits aren’t like that. They can’t be.” Zedd tuned back in to hear Kahlan protesting.

“Darken didn’t do anything wrong, he was possessed?” Richard muttered back. “That’s too convenient. Right Zedd?”

“Why lie?” Zedd asked quietly, hoping the Seeker would have an answer.

The Seeker glowered wordlessly at the path ahead.

***

The dragon who still thought of himself as Darken, delved deep into the pit of the Underworld. The Tear in the Veil had thrown everything out of balance. Previously, the souls had been split between the Creator and the Keeper in a sense of competition or fairness or some other distinction Darken couldn’t immediately think of. For the time being, all the souls were thrown together in the pits.

Before, souls would have been trapped in individual worlds of terror and delight as the Creator and her consort saw fit. The lesser spirits would have clustered around these fantasies and fed off the meager energies of the dead. Now everything was in disarray and Darken had a chance to see an isolated soul without being noticed.When he had thought himself a mere human, he would never have dared. Now that he knew his true nature, she had no power over him.

“I need to know where Father would go to ground, Mother.” Darken said to soul with dark hair, pale skin, and eyes the same shade of blue he had seen in the mirror when he thought himself mortal. She crouched on the delusion of stony ground, her hair covering her nakedness. “When I first came here, I searched the entire Underworld. He isn’t here.”

Queen Melisende of D’Hara sat up straight. “You are not my son,” she intoned breathlessly.

“No,” Darken agreed readily.

Something like hope flared in Melisende’s eyes. “How long?” she asked hungrily.

“He died of that fever,” Darken told her matter-of-factly.

A stifled giggle escaped her lips before she pressed her hands to her mouth. “He kept telling me I was mad. But it really wasn’t my son.”

“I need you to tell me where he is. I killed him. I know a dead body when I see it.” Darken said softly, mercilessly.

“My son is dead. Is he here? Can I hold him?” Her eyes focused somewhere behind Darken. “I dreamed I was holding him.”

Ever so gently, Darken held the chin of the woman who was not his mother and made her look at him. “I sent him away from all this.” Darken couldn’t guess what webs stretched between himself and that child’s soul. He wanted that potential chink in his armor as far from the Keeper as possible. “He’s as safe as I can make him.”

“Thank you.” She breathed it out so quietly it was barely audible over the distant screams of tortured souls. Darken was mortified to realize she had begun crying.

“One of his Mord’Sith must have revived him. I thought the personal servants who fled that day were running from my wrath. Where would they go? Who would take him in, knowing how I would react if I found out?” Darken whispered in her ear. 

“I don’t-” She searched his face. “Did he die alone?” Her mouth set and hardened, a knife gleaming in her eyes. “Who was in charge of his guard?”

“Trimack,” Darken said the name harshly.

He half expected Melisende to shy away but instead she nodded more firmly. “He might know.”

Darken could never have said quite why he took his next actions, only that it felt right. With a wave of his hand, he gave Melisende a gown in D’Haran red and black. He put a diadem in her long, dark hair and realized the flesh he’d been clothed in had been older than she was now when it stopped breathing on that night in the mountains of West Granthia. “I’ll bring him here.”

Her smile held no tenderness, only anticipation.

***

Sketch lifted the bucket carefully so the water wouldn’t slosh out and dragged himself back up the hill toward Sean’s farmhouse. He grinned at Jennsen as she taught a churning song to Sean’s little girl. He poured the bucket of fresh water into the cauldron where Sean’s wife was fixing dinner. Today the cooking was happening outside because the season was too dry to risk escaping embers in the house.

“You can start chopping some more wood,” Sean’s wife nodded to the woodpile while Jennsen rolled her eyes ruefully.

“Idle hands,” the younger woman mouthed at him.

Sketch nodded vaguely and walked over to heft the axe. A distant motion caught his eye. “Someone’s coming,” he noted, trying not to think of the corner of the barn where he’d hidden his staff. He ignored Sean’s wife as she went to look for her husband and ordered Jennsen to watch the stew simmer. In these troubled times, there was no way she’d leave little Martha without adult supervision.

“If it were Banelings, there’d be more of them,” Jennsen told Martha certainly.

Sketch kept his mouth shut and chopped wood, pausing every couple minutes to check the stranger’s progress. He watched as Sean went out to greet the stranger who was close enough now to be identifiable as a large man. He kept working as Sean’s wife came back and informed them the stranger was some sort of monk.

As Sean’s wife added more beets to the stew, Sketch watched Jennsen’s reaction. If the Chantry here were something to be feared he hoped her reaction would let him know. He hoped her calm meant there was nothing to be afraid of. He maintained that hope all the way to dinner.

It started innocuously enough. The man introduced himself as Horace, a scholar. Sketch felt increasingly wary as the night went on and Horace watched Jennsen. Not that it was a crime to watch a pretty girl but something about the way of it made Sketch apprehensive. He volunteered to do the washing up with Jennsen before Sean or his wife could say anything. “Do you know him?” Sketch murmured under the clinking and clattering of plates and utensils.

Jennsen shook her head.

“He’s looking at you like he does. Or wants to.” Sketch warned her.

“Might I speak with you, miss,” Horace said from behind them.

Sketch gave her a look and she pressed her lips together. 

“Sketch comes with us,” Jennsen said in a tone Sketch had only heard her use on Martha before.

Horace looked between them unhappily. He opened his mouth, protest obvious in the corners of his mouth but Jennsen folded her arms resolutely. “Very well,” Horace acquiesced with ill grace. “But this goes no farther than the two of you.

“That depends on what you have to tell me,” Jennsen responded, blue eyes blazing. “Sean and his family have been very kind to me. I won’t endanger them.”

“Yes, yes,” Horace said impatiently. He waited until the two of them had followed him some distance into the moonlit night. “I have information for the Seeker. It is of life and death importance that I find him.”

“How would I know where to find an important man like the Seeker?” Jennsen asked.

“You’re his sister.” Horace said simply.

“You must be mistaken.” Jennsen said but Sketch could see a trace of the Seeker’s expression in her eyes. Now that he knew what to look for, her kinship to Richard was all over her.

“You look so much like your mother,” Horace said gently.

“My mother had no friends. You couldn’t have known her.” Jennsen said.

“I knew her before you were born,” Horace said. “I know she was the Seeker’s mother.”

“Then you weren’t her friend or you’d have helped her,” Jennsen bit out suddenly. “My whole life it was the two of us alone in that house with Darken Rahl a stone’s throw away. And then one day a Mord’Sith came and killed my mother.”

“I heard, I’m sorry.” Horace said. “But I really must get in touch with your brother.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me those sorts of things.” Jennsen said. “He knows I’m safe and I know he’s saving the world.”

“I see,” Horace said, frowning heavily. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“What do you need to tell him?” Jennsen asked. “Maybe i’ll see him before you do.”

“I really must tell him in person,” Horace said, backing away.

Sketch took a step sideways to put himself between Horace and the house. the man stopped and stared at Sketch, the shadows on his face deepened by the moonlight.

“How did you know my mother?” Jennsen asked in an almost conversational tone.

“I met her once at Wizard Zorander’s house,” Horace said, looking between the two of them. “I see I’ve given the wrong impression. I’m not your enemy.”

“Then who are you?” Jennsen demanded. “And why would you think I’d be stupid enough to point anyone who asked to my brother?”

“I’m your father.” A long silence greeted Horace’s pronouncement.

“My father is dead.” Jennsen said, her words practically dripping icicles.

“It was better that I appear to be.” Horace said.

“It was better-” Jennsen sputtered. “It was better that Mother and I be alone? It was better that we be left at the mercy of your other son? It was better that you let Darken run rampant unopposed? Tell me! What was better about any of that?”

“The prophecy said-”

“The prophecy said!” Jennsen made a rude noise. “Did you ever think you were making the prophecy true?”

“Yes!” Horace thundered. “I wanted that prophecy to be true. It said that I would have a second son who would defeat Darken. What if I failed the prophecy and no one defeated Darken? What then, girl?”

“I met Darken.” Jennsen said more quietly. Sketch could hear tears in her voice. “He said you told him about that prophecy when he was a little boy.”

“Given the choice between a lie and the truth, that boy would always choose the lie.” Horace said.

“Where did my mother fit into the prophecy?” Jennsen said, tilting her face up.

“For a child to be strong enough to defeat Darken I thought he would need to be powerful. Zeddicus was the best wizard I knew.” Horace said.

“My grandfather hates you,” Jennsen said. “How did my mother fall for you?”

“I disguised myself as a shepherd,” Horace said.

“Maker’s breath,” Sketch breathed into the following silence. “That’s despicable.”

Horace looked at him like he’d just remembered Sketch was there. “I needed to have another son.”

“Where were you when Richard was born?” Jennsen asked.

“I couldn’t very well be that close to Zeddicus, could I? He might recognize me.” Horace said.

“And after Brennidon?” Jennsen asked bitterly.

“I thought he was dead-”

“So you tried again to have a son.” Sketch said, increasingly horrified.

“Zeddicus left her for dead after the birth. Took off for Westland with the baby and didn’t show hide nor hair of himself until a year and a half ago.” Horace told Sketch defensively. “I got her to a safe place. I took care of her.”

“And when I was born?” Jennsen prodded.

“You were a girl.” Horace said as if that were all the answer needed. Considering the story up to that point, Sketch supposed it was all Horace needed to say.

“Not the son you needed. So you abandoned us where Darken could find us,” Jennsen snorted in a very unladylike manner. “And what have you been doing with yourself since then?”

Horace drew himself up to his full height. “When you were a girl, I knew Richard had to be alive somewhere. The Rahl blood always throws sons when an heir is needed. So I decided to study the problem as in deeply as possible. My studies led me to the Order of Ulrich and there I’ve found information vital to the Seeker’s quest to close the Tear in the Veil.”

“Wait, you knew he’d tear the Veil and you didn’t try to warn him?” Sketch interrupted.

“He might have been too cautious and failed to overthrow Darken.” Horace said as if it were obvious.

“Your father is a real piece of work,” Sketch told Jennsen.

“It’s easy for you to judge.” Horace told him.

Sketch felt Jennsen’s hand on his arm in the dark. She squeezed softly.

“I’m coming with you,” Jennsen said decisively.

“You can’t possibly-”

“I’m pristinely ungifted. I’ve stood up to a Mord’Sith. I saw my mother killed in front of me. I’ve stood up to Darken. I’ve stood up to Richard when he had the power of Orden behind him. If your research is as important as you say, then you should want my help reaching Richard.”

“You can’t-”

“You’ll be facing Sisters of the Dark. My abilities might be useful.” Jennsen said.

“I’ll come with you,” Sketch said impulsively.

“You don’t have to,” Jennsen said, her tone abruptly shy.

Sketch thought about staying on the farm without her. Sean and his family were nice enough but they found his appearance frightening. Without Jennsen as a buffer between him and the villagers he wasn’t sure how long he’d have until he was driven out. “I want to.”

“A brave showing from my daughter’s gentleman caller.” Horace said sullenly.

“You can be sure I won’t abandon her with a newborn.” Sketch shot back with unaccustomed bravery. He’d spent his whole life being kicked around for being a mage and for being an elf. He was surprised to find there was no way he’d let a mage like this one push him around. Not over this. Even if he wasn’t sure yet how much he liked her. She was pretty and decent in a way most people weren’t. He wouldn't abandon her whether it was with a baby or to a journey alone with a man like Horace. She reminded him too much of what Leliana would have been like if she’d had both feet planted in reality. Or without her more recent obsession with the Maker.

“We leave an hour after first light,” Horace said grudgingly.

***

Darrian watched the currents of the group. Even someone with as little leadership talent as he possessed could tell that this was not a situation that would last much longer. Hawke might be willing to let Darrian take the lead but in Darrian’s opinion, Hawke was the one with the charisma. Fenris and Tallis clearly followed Hawke and given Hawke’s stated goal, that was something Darrian could work around. Morrigan was unpredictable and untrustworthy and Darrian was never going to be foolish enough to make the mistake of thinking he could lead her anywhere she didn’t want to go. At best, she’d be an ally of convenience with more fond feelings than murderous ones. He was prepared to work with that too. More so than with Hawke because he’d had time to get used to the idea that Morrigan’s loyalties weren’t obvious.

The potential trouble lay between the other group and the rest of them. If he’d had any idea that Morrigan was going to kidnap a group of strangers he’d, well, he’d have done what he did. Morrigan would have her reasons, however opaque, and the more Darrian saw of the world, the more he thought it’d be a better place with more people willing to act as boldly as she did instead of waiting for some stranger to fight their problems in exchange for a handful of coins. Still, he didn’t approve. But he was hardly going to get worked up over a few humans’ plans being upset.

“Off to save the world again,” Zevran announced from Darrian’s left. “Just like old times. In the Fade, also like old times, I suppose.”

Darrian snorted. “If the Wardens put me in charge of hauling any more cities back to prosperity, I will quit.”

“That could be nice.” Zevran smiled. “I think I’ve almost convinced the Crows to stop looking for me. We could start running from the Wardens instead.”

“You are very strange,” Ariane said, looking at them both.

Darrian would have come up with a witty retort but he was distracted by the sudden shift in scenery. They were abruptly in a gleaming courtyard of white stone. Some of the ugliest statues he had ever had the misfortune to see were looming over them, the diffuse light giving them a bronze gleam.

A grey haired elf in Circle robes peered out of a window and then was standing with them in the courtyard. Before Darrian could sort out what he wanted to say, Hawke threw a punch at the elf. “That’s for my mother!” the words rang in the silence.

“If I hadn’t-” the elf began.

“Nothing worse would have happened than what did. The Templars cracked down anyway.” Hawke hauled the elf up by the front of his robes.

“What did this man do to you?” Richard demanded, stepping forward.

“First Enchanter Orsino,” Hawke made the title an insult, “covered for a necromancer he _knew_ was trying to bring his wife back.”

“No one can bring back the dead,” An old man whose name Darrian hadn’t caught, said in a horrified murmur.

“He was going piece by piece,” Hawke said through gritted teeth, staring Orsino in the eye. “Don’t even try to say you didn't have any idea. Not after Mharen went missing from _your_ Circle. _Your_ responsibility.” He turned his attention to Richard. “And this man could only bleat about how if he told the Templars, they’d crack down on everyone. And then, when we were fighting off the Templars who cracked down anyway, he bugs out and turns himself into a flesh monster that mindlessly attacked everything around it.”

“Some of that was my fault, I’m afraid,” said a blonde woman, walking down the steps from the opposite wing. Darrian recognized her Templar uniform as a Knight-Commander.

“I thought you were-” Haek started.

“Someone saw fit to keep us in the same corner of the Fade,” Anders said, more subdued than Darrian remembered him.

Fenris snorted and then broke into a helpless chuckle which became a full laugh.

Darrian noticed Finn whispering in Ariane’s ear and decided to ignore them. “Why are we here?” he asked because apparently no one else was going to.

“The Veil is thin right here,” Anders said. “You can pass through.”

“Yes.” Morrigan agreed, looking around. “Very thin. Like something has been pressing against it for eons.” She raised an eyebrow at Anders who shrugged. “I should warn you though,” she continued, “I can’t guarantee those without bodies will cross through and I can’t guarantee those who cross through will do so in the same place.”

“But the mirror-” Darrian began. Morrigan caught his eyes and her expression reminded him of the way she looked at him right before she asked him to kill Flemeth, her mother. She had a purpose then and a purpose when she bedded him to conceive Coin. She had a purpose now. Likely she even had a purpose in letting him know she was lying.

“You should be careful,” Darrian heard Anders warning the old man. “Where you’re going, mages are collared. A man your age without Circle training is unheard of outside the Dalish and there is no way you’ll pass for one of them.” Anders paused for a deep breath. “And you should be careful of demons and spirits. They will want to use you, your body.” Anders looked down at his hands. “Don’t let them. No matter how friendly they seem.”

“Anders,” Darrian began, a knot of ice tightening his stomach, “what happened to Justice?”

“He was fading. I tried to help.” When Anders looked up, Darrian felt even colder at the despair in the mage’s eyes. “I think I destroyed us both.”

“He blew up a Chantry with everyone inside,” Fenris supplied helpfully. “Then he all but demanded Hawke kill him for it.”

“So,” Darrian tried to smile in spite of the ice in his gut, “not a retirement to live with a wife and a dozen nubile mistresses.”

The noise Anders made was almost a laugh. “No.”

Darrian was vaguely aware of an argument between the strangers from another world. “We should be going.” He tilted his head toward the increasingly loud argument to let anders know why and moved closer to Morrigan. “Ready to leave when you’ve done your witch stuff.”

“Yes. Witch stuff. At least I don’t have to worry about a Spirit impersonating you. They’d probably try to make you suave.” Morrigan said bitingly, her fingers moving in arcane gestures.

He opened his mouth to answer and the world went red, then white, then black.

***

Darken dragged Trimack by the nape of his neck down and down into the stony grotto where Queen Melisende waited. the man puffed and struggled, cursing Darken and his mother. His eyes widened when he saw the Queen dressed for court. His skin blanched to an ashen grey. Darken could wait. Time was more fluid here. When he reached out he could feel it coiling and twining like smoke.

Melisende watched Trimack with a small, amused smile. “I believe you owe me an apology.” Her words fell with deceptive softness.

“My lady?” Trimack appeared frozen with indecision. One hand was trying to cover his nudity and the other was trying to brace himself against the stone wall.

“I was right,” Melisende’s smile was radiant. “My son was replaced. None of you believed me. I was imprisoned for speaking the truth.” Her voice turned abruptly hard, her eyes burning with cold fury. “I, your monarch.”

“I apologize, my lady.” Trimack said breathlessly, his eyes rolling to try to get a better look at Darken. “If-”

“Silence!” Melisende’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “It’s ‘Your Highness.’ Where did my husband go?”

Trimack went from quivering on the ground to firmly glaring at Melisende. “We’re dead. You were not Queen by birth. Your marriage to Lord Rahl is null and void. You have no authority to-” He broke off to scream and quiver under Darken’s touch. There was no meat here, pain was in the mind. Coaxing screams from a traitor’s mouth was a familiar action in all Darken’s memories. He waited for a certain twitching in the muscles before releasing. “Monster,” Trimack breathed out.

“I am not Queen because of betrayals like yours,” Melisende said evenly. “But that is a matter of discussion between Lord Panis and myself. I would very much prefer to have this conversation with him. Tell me where he is. You know you will eventually.” Her feline smile showed too many teeth. “There is no escape into death here.”

“I will always serve the House of Rahl,” Trimack said, making no effort to disguise how he was bracing himself for another blast of fire.

Instead, Darken bent down and silkily into Trimack’s ear. “Richard has not only abandoned the throne, he’s left that world altogether. There is no Rahl to sit in judgment in the People’s Palace.” He stroked the back of Trimack’s neck.

“Richard?” Melisende’s voice tinkled like broken glass falling to the floor. “He had another child. Of course he did. That was his obsession. A son to bear his name into the future. Nothing mattered but that. Nothing.” She sneered at Trimack. “Not even you.”

“Mistress Kyla?” Darken asked suddenly.”Is that who you had revive him?”

“I don’t know where he is. I had Mistress Kyla revive him but then I made sure I didn’t know where he went so you couldn’t torture it out of me.” Trimack huffed out a breath.

“I believe him,” Darken said.

“So do I,” Melisende said, making a moue of distaste.

“We can’t kill him but we can’t let him tell the Keeper what we’re up to,” Darken said.

Trimack looked up mistrustfully. “You work for the Keeper.”

“Not anymore,” Darken said, kneeling down to look Trimack in the eye. “The Keeper tricked me into that child’s body and I am itching to repay him.”

“Mad,” Trimack breathed out. “You’re both mad.”

“I was in the Creator’s embrace,” Melisende said dreamily. “Me and my son and my friends forever in the light.”

“Who would he turn to that would help him against me,” he asked the woman who was not truly his mother.

She shook her head. “He got very strange right after you... Darken died. Religious. Then he had me locked away...” She shuddered. “He learned magic from that Zeddicus. Everything went wrong after that Zeddicus came to Court.” She noticed Trimack sneering at her and rounded on him. “My parents negotiated my betrothal to Lord Panis when I was twelve. I spent the next six years being tutored on how to best ornament the D’Haran Court. I spent the next fifteen years being the best Queen he could hope for except for not bearing him the son he wanted. It wasn’t my place to question how much time he spent with his chosen Mord’Sith or his other mistresses. Not even when he kept them in our summer residence. Not even when he kept them right down the hall from me.” She spoke the last through gritted teeth. “I entertained diplomats and sat through festivals. And then Zeddicus ruined it.” She pressed her lips together and turned her glare from whatever inward vision she’d been distracted by to the dead man in front of her. “I served him as loyally as you did and for longer,” she whispered harshly. “He owes me.”

***

Cara stirred herself slowly. Nothing hurt but everything felt like it ought to hurt. She carefully rubbed dust out of her eyes and felt it streaking her hair and face. she looked around and saw she was the first to come to. Kahlan lay in a puddle of white skirts, her face away from Cara. To the other side, Cara saw Tallis. Standing as carefully as if she were made of glass and about to shatter, she looked around the room. At first she thought it was a cavern because it was large and made of stone but as she looked around and the distances resolved themselves, she saw that the stone was carved in intricate patterns. Vines looped and twisted down and around everywhere they could reach. The majority of the room was occupied by a large orrery of some metal she couldn’t recognize. 

As happened from time to time, she wished Darken were there to tell her what he thought. Even though she was completely given over to Richard’s service, Darken knew all sorts of interesting things about ancient magics that might prove useful for survival. Looking around, she saw that the three of them were alone. She walked over to Kahlan and prodded her shoulder. “Wake up. We need to find the Seeker and the wizard before they walk off a cliff.”

Kahlan stirred muzzily, finally raising her head. “Richard...”

Cara rolled her eyes. Of course that would be Kahlan’s first word. “Missing,” she reiterated. She could tell exactly when it sank in because Kahlan paused and then scrambled to her feet. Kahlan put a hand to her head and staggered dizzily. Cara grimaced but moved her arm under Kahlan to help support her.

“Wait. We can’t leave her here.” Kahlan said.

“She was all for slitting your throat when she found out you were a Confessor,” Cara reminded Kahlan.

Kahlan sighed. “So we tie her up first.”

Cara grunted. The vines looked sturdy enough for that. “We’ll have to grab them fast.” She could see Tallis starting to move.

“What? Oh.” Kahlan moved unsteadily to grab a stone rail. “What is that? That’s- Big. Beautiful. Are those stars?”

“They don’t look like stars,” Cara said doubtfully, removing swaths of vine and twisting them. “They look like balls.”

“When I was a girl in Aydindril, the wizards of the Second Order held astronomy classes. According to them, the stars are spherical blobs of burning gas. Anferoth demonstrated with a ball of light. He said it’s the shape things want to be in out there in the dark behind the stars.” Kahlan said, taking deep breaths. “Well, except for the magical ones like the constellation that made the lying moon.”

Cara watched Kahlan with concern while tying the vines securely around Tallis’s wrists and ankles. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel- It’s like the Con Dar but-” Kahan took another deep breath. “This feels like when I took off the Rada’Han but so much more.”

Turning her attention to the knots in Tallis’s bindings, Cara missed what first happened except the flash light so bright Cara saw green afterimages of Tallis’s hair. She leapt to her feet and saw Kahlan’s hair blowing back in a breeze apparent nowhere else in the room. From her hand to the floor twenty feet away, there was a long, black scorch mark.

“I think I just shot lightning out of my hands,” Kahlan said in a dazed voice.

***

Fenris watched Morrigan uneasily as she paced the tiny island they stood on. “Where are the others?” he asked tensely.

“Not here,” Morrigan said, putting her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Not dead.” She looked at the Hero of Ferelden with an expression Fenris couldn’t read.

“Where are Finn and Ariane?” Darrian Tabris asked, crossing his arms. After a pause he said intently, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be watching Finn while he’s outside the Circle.”

“Then you should rejoice that I’ve given him such a good chance at freedom,” Morrigan said.

“Except that’s not what he wants.” Darrian scowled. “He likes books and clean clothes and he fainted the first time he saw his own blood.”

“Smart man,” Fenris said, playing with the ribbon around his wrist.

Hawke cleared his throat. “He is a mage being set abruptly loose during a mass mage uprising. That might not end well.”

“Are all the others with him?” Darrian asked.

“No. Just the two men from the other world and your Dalish elf warrior.” Morrigan said. “The dwarf I put as near to Amaranthine as I could and I seem to have dropped the other women... not as near to there as I thought. Something pulled them out of my grasp.”

Fenris didn’t feel overly anxious on their behalf. He pitied whoever ran into them first. The witch in front of him was bad enough. He put Hawke at his back and began examining the defensibility of his surroundings. The tiny spit of rock in the underground lake made him feel exposed. He was used to caves. What caverns on the Wounded Coast Hawke hadn’t dragged him through, he’d dragged Hawke to. He’d even experienced some interesting caves in Orlais. This vast underground lake was like nothing in any of them. Morrigan’s mirror looked almost exactly like Merrill’s. It was reflecting nothing of it’s surroundings and occasionally rippling with green light. A yellow shaft of sunlight fell from somewhere above, illuminating no more than the rock, the mirror, two dogs, three elves, one human, one witch and one uncanny child.

He thought he saw a reflection of Anders for a moment and shivered.

“It sounded like we’re most needed in Orlais. Why are we here? It’ll take weeks to reach Gwaren alone.” Zevran asked suspiciously.

“The mirror is here. Here is the best place to disembark.” Her golden gaze fastened on Fenris. “You may not like my magic but this is the best place for us to come through with it intact. You in particular would have been badly injured by landing outside the mirror’s influence.”

“What will happen to my team?” Darrian demanded.

“The Warden will be fine. The elf and the mage, I’m not sure exactly. It hasn’t been tried since my mother’s time.” Morrigan shrugged.

“Guess,” Darrian said through gritted teeth.

“Migraines, difficulty controlling spells, vertigo perhaps. Nothing fatal.” Morrigan said confidently. “I wish your people no harm. I would prefer to have your good will for this.” When Darrian didn’t answer, she huffed impatiently. “Someone needs to keep an eye on the strangers and we do not have that kind of time to spare. Besides,” she looked down at her son, “it might throw my mother off our scent. She might still be upset about you killing her.”

“An excellent point,” Zevran interjected. “To Gwaren then?”

Hawke’s eyes asked Fenris the same question. Uneasily loosening his greatsword in its scabbard, he nodded. Gwaren to the Free Marches to Orlais. And hope the most ancient woman he’d ever met didn’t notice them.

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning up my NaNo project. I plan to finish this.


End file.
